


Fools and Fate

by Danica_Dust



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst, Covens, Fake Marriage, Fate, Fear of Discovery, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Guilt, Historical Fantasy, Hunter Dean Winchester, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Memory Magic, Men of Letters, Pining, Prejudice, Violence, Witch Castiel (Supernatural), Witch Hunters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25928539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danica_Dust/pseuds/Danica_Dust
Summary: Castiel Novak fled his coven to escape the rigid, predetermined Fate laid out for him within its confines. Desperate and alone, he took shelter in the city of Sacriloga, forsaking all magic and living off whatever he could steal. There, witches like Cas are hunted. They are feared. And they are burned.When Jack, a young witch also on the run from his own coven, seeks out Cas’ aid, however, Cas finds that he cannot reject the boy, leaving him to his sure destruction. Especially after the newest visitor to Sacriloga makes his presence known: the legendary Hunter, Dean Winchester, who has been following Jack’s trail.Sworn to the Men of Letters, Hunters live by one principle: thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. Dean’s path was never meant to cross with Cas', but a desperate stunt and a single mistake forces them into an impossible union—holy matrimony.The war between the witches and the Men of Letters is an ancient one and Cas' most dangerous enemies bring a Fate worse than fire. Unable to ignore his growing feelings, yet powerless to change what he is, a choice must be made.A suffocating Fate on one hand. A precarious freedom on the other. And in between, the kind of love that makes fools of us all.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 99
Collections: Destiel Harlequin Challenge 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you to thefandomsinhalor, my wonderful beta!
> 
> And thank you to the Destiel Harlequin mods!

The large man dressed in fine silks in a riot of colours stepped into the waiting carriage, assisted by a liveried footman.

Although the man had clearly chosen his ensemble to catch the eye—most likely he was headed to the festival—that was not who Castiel’s gaze was fixed on. No, his attention never wavered from the butler who stood in the doorway of the townhouse to see his master off.

Without delay, the carriage door was closed, the footman took his place on the back of the carriage, and the driver snapped the reigns to get the horses moving. And off they went.

The gilded bulk of the carriage passed in front of Castiel, obstructing his line of sight to the townhouse, and when it passed, the front door was just in the process of closing.

He began counting.

From his observations over the past few days, he knew that the butler retreated into the office as soon as the master of the house was away, to attend to letters, paperwork, and other matters of the man’s estate. The housekeeper and her staff, in the meantime, would be busy outside doing the laundry while the bedrooms aired in the summer breeze.

It was the perfect opportunity.

After reaching sixty in his count and scanning the street—empty thanks to the festival, no doubt—Castiel strode briskly, but not too fast, up to the townhouse entrance. As he walked, he pulled out the case that held his lock-picking tools, which he had obtained by trading some gold cuff-links (stolen from a man drunk at a tavern) at the wandering pawn shop that stopped by a few times a year.

It took him fifteen seconds to pop the lock, causing him to wince at his ineptitude. He hadn’t had to pick a lock in a while, and he’d gotten rusty.

He’d have to fix that quickly. Summer was drawing to an end and he needed a new coat or he’d freeze as the colder weather encroached.

One of the many perils of being homeless.

Slipping inside, Castiel slowly latched the door behind him without a sound. The front hall was vacant, as expected.

Knowing exactly where to go, he immediately moved toward the staircase and down the hallway on the right-hand side, his step light and his specially treated shoes silent on the wooden floors.

Arriving at the master bedroom without issue, he stepped inside and his eyes immediately caught on the movement of the curtains billowing in the wind. Through the open window, he could hear the voices of the women in the rear courtyard. He could smell the lye on the breeze.

Everything was going just as planned.

Off the sitting area was the dressing room, which was where Castiel headed now. Surrounded by multi-hued cloth and the odour of moth balls, he ignored all the items within easy reach. Those would be the items most used, and thus, most missed.

In the furthest reaches of the closet resided last seasons’ clothing, items that no longer fit, and perhaps a few pieces requiring minor repair, but not deemed worth the effort.

That was where Castiel would find what he needed. And the man with the silk in a rainbow of colours would never notice that the relatively plain trousers that he had purchased last fall and worn once, maybe twice, had mysteriously vanished.

The trousers would be too big for him, judging by the size of their previous owner, but they could easily be hemmed and taken in, and the excess material used for other things.

The winter coats were not present in the closet— they were likely stored elsewhere for the off-season—but he did snag a pair of woollen socks that had fallen in a dark corner.

Satisfied with his haul, he cast around for anything he might have missed, including a junk drawer that could potentially house some trinkets that he could fix up and sell.

But nothing caught his fancy—at least nothing that would go unnoticed, though he did admire a pair of emerald earrings that sparkled in the late afternoon sun. So, he folded up the trousers as tightly as they would go, tucked them in his shirt and the socks into his pocket, then took a few steps back into the bedroom before freezing in place.

Voices. Outside the half-closed bedroom door.

From the conversation of the two female voices, it sounded like they had been sent up to fetch the bedding for washing.

Without cursing or panicking, Castiel backed toward the open window.

At least the women appeared to have stopped off at a guest bedroom first, which bought him a minute, maybe two.

Glancing behind him, he studied the straight, two-story drop to the stone courtyard below. Such a fall might not kill him, but the chances of it disabling him were high, and that was just as bad.

His fingers twitched, his magic reacting to his rising distress even though he remained outwardly calm.

Clenching the traitorous digits into fists, he forced the magic back down. Though the temptation to use it was high, as it always was, the risk was too great. He hadn’t used magic in two years and he wasn’t about to start now.

He’d find another way. He always did.

Pushing aside the fluttering curtains, he peered out to either side.

There. To his left was a lower portion of the roof that jutted out from the first storey, nearly close enough to jump onto. And in between: a trellis.

Castiel smiled.

Moving as quickly as he dared, while maintaining silence, so as not to draw the attention of the women inside or below, Castiel manoeuvred himself onto the trellis, which thankfully bore his weight. From there, it was an easy step onto the roof.

Moving down the roof, along the side of the townhouse, he located the next window, also open for airing, and climbed back inside, into a room which the two maids had already stripped of bedding. Striding swiftly through, he peeked into the hall, saw the women disappearing into the master bedroom, and proceeded to sneak back through the house and right out the front door.

Mission: successful.

Castiel stopped at the street stall of a down-on-her-luck seamstress who could adjust his purloined trousers and wouldn’t ask questions. He could do minor mending himself, but he didn’t have tools or skill that this particular pair of pants would require to be taken in properly.

Another benefit of using the seamstress was that he knew she would use the excess fabric and the fabric of his old pants with the holes in them to create other items that she would then distribute to the local homeless children.

Castiel wasn’t the only one living on the streets in Sacriloga. It wasn’t a huge town, but it was large enough to be home to all kinds of folk, from the snobbiest nobility, such as the man he had stolen from, to the most hardened criminals. It was the perfect place to live anonymously, which was why he had chosen it after running away from his coven.

His life in Sacriloga was vastly different from his life with his former coven. Granted, it hadn’t been anything posh like that of the nobility, but it had been a decently comfortable life.

Other than the slow strangulation of free will that came along with it, of course.

No matter how far he fell, he would never go back.

Sacriloga was a fairly quiet town most of the year, with one exception: the annual autumn festival, which just so happened to be that very day.

For the last twelve hours, since dawn, the people of the town and travellers from towns over had been gathering and celebrating, mostly in the large square at the center of town where a stage had been erected during the festival preparations that had taken place over the last few days.

It was in the direction of that square that Castiel found his feet moving of their own volition, following the trickle of late-comers down the streets as they rushed over for the main event right at sundown.

Castiel justified attending the festival with the thought of all the private parties and their associated buffets. The lavish meals had a tendency to sprung up at the residences surrounding the square for the more well-to-do of the town and their guests. Perfect places to sneak in and snag a free meal.

Having been able to wash that morning, and with his new trousers, he hoped he could keep his homeless status hidden enough to mingle without being noticed.

Soon enough, he began hearing the lively music and smelling the mouth-watering scents wafting in the air.

His stomach growled in response, which it didn’t do too often any more. His body had adjusted to long periods between meals over the years, and he had eaten just the day before. However, the delicious scents had clearly proved too much of a temptation for it.

The crowd grew thicker and thicker as he drew closer to the square, until he was right at the edge, under the red, orange, and yellow banners and decorations that covered everything. He found himself being constantly jostled by the other festival attendees.

He still had about half an hour before sunset. Ample time to get in position and use the impending festival events to his advantage, as it distracted everyone from an unfamiliar face in their midst and food going astray.

He scanned around and picked his target: a private party that had spilled out onto the front yard of one of the houses on the edge of the square. Even better, small tables laden with assorted delicacies had been brought outside for the event. The yard had been roped off, but there was no security preventing someone from slipping under said rope and disappearing amongst the people.

As subtly as possible, he meandered in the direction of his target.

Twenty feet.

Ten feet.

Five feet.

Some action on the stage drew people’s attention.

He reached for the rope.

Then something tugged on his trench coat.

Spinning, he snatched the hand holding him and looked down to see a young man, barely out of his teenage years from the looks of him, with sandy brown hair and an expressive face currently revealing his surprise.

Wide eyes stared up at him.

“I think you have the wrong person,” Castiel said immediately.

“C-Castiel? Castiel Novak?”

Castiel reared back, releasing the young man. His eyes darted around, scanning the crowd that had grown even more riotous around them.

Thankfully, no immediate threats appeared. Besides this one person standing before him, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, eyes flitting between Castiel and the ground.

Stepping closer, Castiel, in his best low, threatening voice, said, “How do you know me? What do you want?”

The young man—really just a kid—toyed with the bottom of his well-worn and dirt-stained shirt. “I-I ran away, too. Like you. And I was told—I was told that you would help me.”

Those eyes finally met Castiel’s and remained there, pleading with him.

He frowned. “Told by whom?” There were very, _very_ few people who knew where he had settled after leaving his coven.

Unless someone had discovered him. _Fates_ , he hoped not. Finding and learning a new town would not be an easy task.

“Um, they told me not to say.”

_They._ “What coven are you from?” It was a simple question as each coven knew about the others. Theirs was a small community, though the Men of Letters liked to make it seem otherwise.

Yet, eyes once again avoiding Castiel’s, the kid was rocking on his heels as he quite obviously tried to decide whether or not to answer, or to come up with an adequate lie.

He was clearly hiding something he didn’t want Castiel to know.

Taking a bit of pity on him, he said, “I need to know in order to help you. Tell me. Was it Gabriel’s Tricksters? I can completely understand wanting to run away from that bunch of miscreants. Perhaps Hannah’s coven? Duma’s?”

“Um… _”_ Then he proceeded to mumble.

“What was that?”

In the lowest voice possible that still allowed him to be heard above the crowd, he admitted, “The Morningstar Coven.”

“Ah…” _Lucifer._ “Let me guess. Crowley told you to find me?”

“Not… not exactly.”

And that was when Castiel made the connection. “Rowena.” That tricky witch was the only other of their kind that knew his location, and was the only witch with whom he shared Sacriloga. “Crowley sent you to Rowena, and Rowena sent you to me.” At least it didn’t seem like the covens had tracked him down. Yet.

The run-away startled, squeaking, “I didn’t say that! Don’t tell her I said that!”

Despite himself, Castiel chuckled. “I won’t tell her anything. What’s your name?”

The grin that came next was wide and honest. “I’m Jack! So, you’ll help me?”

So much like a child, he thought. The last thing he needed was someone else to look after when it was already a full-time job just keeping himself alive and his identity concealed. And if Jack had been part of the same coven as Rowena had… things could get especially difficult.

But one look at that face, and Castiel knew he wouldn’t be able to say no and live with himself afterwards. Rowena knew his own situation, so she would only have sent the kid to him for a purpose or if there was no other choice.

“Yes, I’ll help you,” he began, then he had to stop Jack from cheering and drawing attention to himself.

After instructing Jack, in much detail, on the importance of keeping a low profile, he asked how heim had found him at the festival in the first place.

“Oh! Rowena gave me this.” He held out small hairpin with a glittering ruby on the end. “I just have to hold it like this,” he flatted his hand, palm up, and placed the pin in the centre, “Then it points to where you are.” And sure enough, the pin spun until the ruby pointed precisely at him.

“May I see it?”

Jack nodded and held out the pin.

Upon closer inspection, Castiel could see that a short strand of brown hair had been woven around the ridged length of the pin. A fairly basic tracking spell reliant on having a physical piece of the person to be tracked.

He had been extremely careful to destroy any traces of himself when he left his coven and every moment afterwards, so he wondered how long Rowena had been saving that particular strand. And how many other strands of his she might have. Even those of other people. Tricky witch.

He tucked the pin into his pocket to deal with later. Jack, in the meanwhile, had been growing more and more excited as his head swivelled around, taking in all the activity around them.

“I hadn’t noticed before, because I’d been focusing on the pin to find you, but what’s going on? It’s like a giant party! There are so many people. What are they all doing—”

“Jack,” Castiel interrupted, though he couldn’t help feeling the infectious excitement Jack was giving off. “It’s Sacriloga’s autumn festival.”

Jack beamed, spinning around like he was trying to see everything all at once, though Castiel doubted that he could see much else besides the back of people’s heads. “I’ve never been to a festival.”

Yes, Castiel was sure he hadn’t. Not while living in the restrictive life of a coven. The small smile that had appeared on his face dimmed as he took into consideration that this was probably Jack’s first venture into normal, non-witch society. They would have to be so very carefully going forward.

But at the same time, Jack’s innocence was a breath of fresh air to the stagnation that had somehow become commonplace to him. Suddenly, he found himself excited for the festival as more than just a decent place to grab a meal, but instead as an actually fun event that he could perhaps allow himself to enjoy for once.

They meandered closer to the stage and Jack maintained a steady stream of dialogue, mostly questions about the festival surrounding them, but also talking a bit about himself.

Castiel noticed that he stayed away from anything about his former coven, not that Castiel was surprised. They had both run away for a reason.

“Welcome!” a voice called out from the direction of the stage.

In response, the crowd let out a huge cheer, and then the previously unceasing roar of hundreds of conversations dimmed to almost nothing.

Castiel looked up at the stage to see a petite red-head standing jauntily on the platform. She was wearing a man’s suit jacket and trousers, but in a flaming red that matched her hair, and which must have cost a small fortune. In her hands, she carried a golden crown.

“For those from out of town, I am Charlie Bradbury, a Woman of Letters, long-time resident of Sacriloga, and your honoured host this evening.”

That explained it then. He had heard rumours of their spirited local delegate from the Men of Letters, who had taken over from her predecessor in the spring. He made a note to keep his distance from her, as he did with all things and people Men-of-Letters-related.

He already had his coven searching for him, and now probably Jack’s as well. He hardly needed the Men of Letters to realize there were witches in town and to send their Hunters after them, too.

Charlie continued addressing the crowd, finishing her greeting and diving into the details of the events to come. “I hope you’ve all been enjoying yourselves, but this is just the beginning. As many of you are aware, the festival concludes with a bonfire to chase away the darkness of fear and to bring light and warmth to our hearts. So gather close to your loved ones, and let’s light this thing!”

She waved her hand at the crowd and that’s when Castiel noticed the pile of wood, smack in the middle of the square, stacked as high as the heads of the crowd. The sight of it sent a chill down his spine and every instinct screamed at him to head in the opposite direction.

_It_ _’s not meant for anyone_ , he told himself. _Get it together._

On the other hand, Jack was enraptured.

As the Woman of Letters spoke of the bonfire and its historical significance, he instead surveyed the crowd, as he often did. Keeping an eye out for any potential danger.

It was just a habit and he hadn’t been expecting to find any threats, but it seemed that Fate was determined to throw him more than just one surprise that day.

Because right there, leaning nonchalantly on the side of the stage, holding a plate of bite-sized appetizers, which he seemed to be contentedly consuming one after the other, was a Hunter.

And not just any Hunter. Because, although he wore the signature leather jacket of the Hunters and had weapons strapped across his surely muscled body, that wasn’t how Castiel had recognized him.

No, he recognized him because he had seen his likeness in the photos passed around at his coven. The drawings representing Hunters in general, and simultaneously, the one specific Hunter they were all warned to avoid at any cost.

Dean Winchester.

The most ruthless and dangerous Hunter currently living was _right there_ , in Sacriloga.

And Castiel was screwed.


	2. Chapter 2

As subtly as possible, Castiel reached out and placed his hand on Jack’s shoulder to get his attention.

“We have to go.”

“But I wanted to see—”

“Trust me, Jack. We need to leave right now, or we’re going to be in trouble.” As Castiel spoke, Jack finally seemed to notice something in his expression, or perhaps his tenseness, because that was when his eyes widened, just before beginning to dart around the crowd.

But Castiel didn’t want him spotting the Hunter and potentially reacting to him in a way that would draw attention. So, he let go of Jack’s shoulder, snatched his hand instead, and began tugging him through the crowd at a slow and steady pace. It couldn’t look like they were fleeing, but simply heading home after a long day at the festival.

He angled for the closest side street, where the crowd would presumably be thinner and they could make better headway against the tide of people still flowing into the square for the main event of the night.

After what seemed to him like years, they finally arrived at the mouth of the side street—more like an alley—and he swiftly pulled Jack down it, leaving the press of people behind.

There were still a few people using the alley as a path into the square, just as the two of them were using it as a path out, but everyone passed by them without incident.

Risking a glance behind them, he determined that no one had followed them into the alley.

Castiel released Jack’s hand and the breath that had been caught in his chest since he had spotted Dean Winchester.

Picking up the pace a little, he got Jack to trot alongside him as he navigated through the familiar maze of streets and alleys.

“Where are we going?” Jack asked a few minutes later.

“To pay Rowena a visit. She owes me an explanation, and we could use her help with this.”

Jack frowned up at him. “What’s going on?”

Silently, Castiel debated on whether he should inform Jack of the threat, or if it would cause the kid to panic. But in the end, he decided that it was better that he knew, so that, should anything go wrong, he would be prepared. And then he would have a better chance of protecting himself and perhaps even getting away. Any initial panic, he would deal with here and now, while it was just the two of them in an empty street.

“There was a Hunter, Jack. In the square.”

Unexpectedly, Jack almost immediately dropped his gaze to the ground, watching his feet as they walked. “Oh.”

Castiel stopped in his tracks. “You don’t seem all that surprised,” he said, suspicion punctuating his words.

Jack stopped walking as well, but continued to stare at the ground, scuffing his boots on the bricks that made up the roadway.

“Uh, well… It’s just that the Hunter you saw could have maybe, possibly, been the one that’s been following me.”

“Following you? Jack, why didn’t you tell me that from the start?” His tone came out harsher than he had intended.

 _Deep breath_ , he told himself. Jack was just a kid, whose experience being tracked by a Hunter was most likely limited to this one occasion.

“I—I thought I had lost him,” Jack confessed, still unwilling to meet Castiel’s eyes.

If he actually had lost him, that would have been cause for Castiel to be extremely impressed. As it was, he only said softly, “Oh, Jack.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Ceasing his determined focus on the road, Jack lifted his eyes and practically whispered, “Why does everyone hate us?”

His lost expression and the sadness in his eyes had Castiel’s heart aching for the kid. “What makes you say that?”

Jack wrung his hands and breathed in deep, as if gathering his courage to speak.

Then he said, “In the last town I travelled through, there was this girl, somewhere around the same age as me. She and her family helped me out. Gave me food and place to sleep for the night.”

Castiel suspected that the family’s hospitality hadn’t lasted.

And sure enough, Jack continued, saying, “I wanted to thank them, but I had no money, so I was just making their crops grow and give a better harvest, because they were farmers. But the girl, Max, she saw me and… and I had to leave.”

That had probably been where the Hunter had picked up his trail. At least the family had allowed him to leave before they had contacted the Men of Letters. There were so many worse things they could have done.

To Jack, he said, “Humans, they don’t understand us. All they see is that we have power that they don’t have, and that scares them. Most of them are good people. They just let their fear control them and we bear the effects. It’s better to simply stay away from them. That’s why the covens were formed.”

“What if you don’t have a coven anymore?”

“Then you’re on your own, unless another coven takes you in.”

As depressing as reality was for witches, it was the truth. The covens had become their families, and a rogue witch without a coven was destined to be alone.

It was exactly the sacrifice Castiel had made in exchange for his freedom.

“That sounds lonely. I don’t want to be on my own.” Castiel couldn’t help but wonder what had made Jack decide to abandon his coven and risk venturing out on his own. But that story was Jack’s to tell in his own time, if he wished to do so.

“We’ll find you a new coven, Jack,” Castiel promised. “One where you can start fresh. Make new friends.” Jack couldn’t stay with him—one witch on his own was already risky enough, more likely to attract Hunters—but he couldn’t send him off on his own either. So, that only left finding him a new coven to take him in.

“You’ll come too? To the new coven?”

Castiel blinked, a little surprised at the request. “No. I have to stay on my own,” he said firmly. It would better if Jack didn’t form any sort of attachment to him.

“But what about the Hunters? And the Men of Letters? Aren’t you scared of them?”

Supposing it would be best to explain to Jack now, he began walking again and waved for Jack to follow.

“From my experience, there are three types of Hunters,” he began. “The first are just as afraid of us as the common folk, but they’ve turned that fear into rage and violence. We’re the vessel through which they exorcise those emotions, which also benefits us, because we can use their rage to our advantage since it also clouds their judgement.”

“Like bullies? Mom said that bullies pick on others because they’re scared of something and don’t know how to express themselves properly.”

“That could be a close analogy, yes,” he agreed. “The second group believe they are on a Fate-ordained mission, delivered to them through the mouths of the Men of Letters, who they see in a venerated light. Those ones are more difficult to deal with and unlikely to allow themselves be rattled. But they are also predictable. Always falling into the same patterns and acting strictly within the instructions dictated by the Men of Letters, which limits their actions and prevents impulsive decisions.”

He hoped what he was saying made sense to Jack. The kid was nodding and listening with rapt attention, so the message appeared to be getting across.

“And the third kind?”

“Those are the worst kind. The ones who don’t care about a purpose or higher cause. They just want to destroy. The more lives they take, the more blood they shed, the more they revel in it. Stay away from all Hunters, but particularly those ones. They won’t show you mercy just because you’re young. There is no reasoning with them. No distracting them. No ‘moral’ guidelines to hold them back. They are single-minded and will not stop until their target is completely and utterly destroyed.”

Jack’s eyes had dropped to the ground once more, and Castiel could see his hands shaking, but his stride was steady, his back was straight, and those shaking hands were quickly clenched into fists.

Scared but with an inner strength to fight through the fear. Castiel’s opinion on his chances of survival increased.

“What kind was the Hunter that you saw?”

Castiel thought back to all the stories he’d heard about Dean Winchester. Most tended to paint him as the third kind, but he knew that there was much exaggeration in those stories. Upon reflection, there were also discrepancies in them that he hadn’t noticed before.

“I’m not sure,” he answered honestly. “The only consistent thing I’ve heard about him is that he’s very good at what he does.”

Jack didn’t respond, seeming lost in thought, and after that they continued walking in silence.

Rowena lived in the heart of Sacriloga’s upscale market, where the more well-to-do residents went to spend their excessive amounts of money.

Compared to the more down-trodden areas of town, such as where the seamstress he had visited earlier that day set up shop, these streets oozed luxury.

The rows of glass-fronted stores on either side of the wide lane were clean of filth and trash and vacant of any homeless folk and other “riff-raff” (besides himself and Jack, of course). They were also full of colour, from the people to the painted wood to the stones used to build.

But while this was certainly more pleasing to the eye, the washed-out grey and brown streets of the lower-class market, on the other hand, had been teaming with boisterous frivolity and unrestrained life. Here, the shoppers, while still behaving pleasantly enough to each other, clearly wore the shackles of high-class etiquette. Their behaviour was expected to suit their class at all times.

Despite currently being on the lowest end of the class spectrum, this was actually the kind of society that Castiel was most familiar with, as it mirrored coven society the most. With its rigid rules and demanding expectations, the covens had all of the downsides of the upper class, with next to none of the rewards afforded to society outside of their confines.

Jack also seemed to sense this, and they moved easily through the dwindling number of evening shoppers with only a few odd looks due to their less-than-trendy clothing.

Finally, they reached Rowena’s shop. Hundreds of pieces of coloured glass, semi-precious stones, and other assorted trinkets reflected sparkles of sunlight onto the brickwork outside and created a multitude of prismatic rainbows that danced on their skin as they entered.

Inside, fabrics in shades of maroon, burgundy, and blood red were draped across every surface, including the hanging from the ceiling, muffling every sound made in the shop and creating a hushed atmosphere. Larger, hand-crafted artworks of glass, metal and stone on a variety of pedestals and side tables were located seemingly haphazardly around the shop floor, which was strewn with rugs in every shade and patters. But the obstacles actually created a winding path to the back of the store, where Rowena preferred wait in her ‘lounge’.

The cozy area was surrounded by bookshelves that were stuffed with mismatched titles of ranged sizes and bindings and a number of assorted knickknacks. In the nook created by the shelves, Rowena had placed the comfiest looking armchair that Castiel had ever seen, beside which sat a carved side table that held an antique tea set.

Castiel was certain that the Men of Letter knew about Rowena and her little shop. Sure, it wasn’t like she had real spell books, potion ingredients, or any other truly magical paraphernalia lying about, but the decor and items it did display were so clearly witch-adjacent, at the very least, that the Men of Letters would have long since sent their Hunters to have her evicted or worse.

The fact that they hadn’t told Castiel that Rowena had either agreements with or blackmail against some very powerful people in their hierarchy. If he had money, it would be on the latter.

He also suspected that whatever protection she had was only good so long as she kept out of trouble. Or in other words, so long as she didn’t sell anything too nasty to the mortals that made their way into her clutches.

All the more reason why he had rejected her offer to bring him under that protection upon his arrival in Sacriloga two years ago. He doubted he could have afforded her price anyway.

As he and Jack rounded the last bend, Rowena’s brows lifted into her red hair as she spotted them.

“Well, well. Look who we have here. Back so soon, Jack my boy.” She took a sip from a steaming tea cup.

“You owe me an explanation.”

“I see that our young friend was able to track you down successfully.” Looking to the side, she placed her tea cup back on its saucer, then immediately fixed her hard gaze on him once more. “So difficult to find these days, Castiel.”

“For good reason, Rowena.” He stood stiffly, his face set in stone, hopefully conveying his annoyance at the other witch.

Rowena hummed nonchalantly in the face of his ire. Then she held out her hand to Jack expectantly. “I’ll take my wee trinket back now, dear boy.”

 _The hairpin?_ Castiel snorted. “I think not.”

“Oh, come now. Are you honestly going to tell me that you’re not going to help poor Jack? Would you rather I had sent him straight back home to—”

Jack jolted beside him. “No! Don’t send me back, please. I can’t—”

Quickly, Castiel placed a hand on his shoulder to reassure him as the kid’s wide eyes darted between them both, his breathing rapid and uneven.

“We’re not sending you back,” he said. “It’s okay, Jack. Relax.”

“See? No harm done.”

Castiel’s attention snapped back to Rowena at her comment. “He was followed, Rowena,” he said, his voice dark and full of foreboding.

She leaned back in her chair, slim hands gripping the arms. “Excuse me?”

“He. Was. Followed. There’s a Hunter in town.” His voice lowered even more. “Dean Winchester.”

“Bollocks.”

“This is your and Crowley’s fault. Fix it.”

“And how, pray tell, am I meant to do that? Wave my magic wand and say ‘shoo’?” She mimed that exact motion as she spoke.

“If that’ll work.”

Rowena threw her hands up in the air, as if to ward off the stupidity of his statement.

“You’ve studied more types of magic than anyone I’ve ever known, besides the coven leaders. Surely there must by a spell, a potion, something. Enough to let us get away and prevent the Hunter from following.”

That statement she took under consideration.

“A distraction, aye.” She fingered the large gem hanging on a chain around her neck, eyes lost in thought. “Even if it’s only temporary, so long as it’s long enough to allow you to disappear…”

Castiel tried not to tap his foot in impatience.

A moment later, her eyes refocused.

“I may have just the thing.”

After Rowena had disappeared into the back of the shop to concoct whatever plan she had brewing in her mind, Jack turned to him with large eyes and a solemn expression.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” He removed some books from a chair and sat down, placing his elbows on his knees and resting his head on his hands as he began considering what their next move should be, once the Hunter was dealt with.

“But I brought so much trouble, and now you have to leave your home, too.”

He sighed, eyes going to Jack, who was shifting back and forth on his feet. “It wasn’t much of a home. Don’t worry about it, Jack,” he said, trying to brush it off. “I would have had to move on eventually anyway. It’s just happening a little sooner than planned, that’s all.”

What he was saying was true, even if he would have preferred his departure to have occurred differently, and without the danger of a Hunter on his tail.

“I’m still sorry.”

“I know. Once we get you somewhere safe, things will be better.”

“And you’ll stay too, won’t you? Once we find a safe place?”

It was a valid question, but not one Castiel had expected Jack to pose so quickly. The kid was smart and perceptive.

Thankfully, Rowena returned at that moment, and he was spared from having to give Jack a disappointing answer.

“Give these to your hunter,” she instructed, holding out a small, velvet, drawstring bag. The contents clinked when he took it. “They will last precisely one day. That’s twenty-four hours, which should give you plenty of time to skedaddle.”

“Thank you. What do I owe you?”

Rowena waved him off. “Consider dealing with that Hunter and taking care of Jack as payment.”

He nodded in response.

Then Castiel and Jack began heading out of the store, but just as Jack stepped outside, Rowena stopped Castiel with a hand on his arm before he could follow.

“Oh, one wee, itty bitty thing,” she cautioned. “Don’t combine the potions. Give one, then the other. Doesn’t matter what order. Just not together.”

“Why? What will happen if they’re combined?”

“Let’s just say they don’t play well with each other. Good luck!”

And with that, she gave him a shove out the door and he heard the lock snick into place behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

“You can do it, Jack. After its done, just let him see you and come straight back. I’ll handle the rest.” Castiel gave Jack a pat of encouragement.

With great hesitance, Jack stepped from the mouth of the alleyway they had chosen, back into the still bustling square.

Alone, Castiel surveyed the alley once more. It was narrow, dark, smelled like piss, and most importantly, empty.

For the hundredth time, Castiel told himself that this was the best way. The Hunter, Dean Winchester, if he was indeed the one on Jack’s trail, already knew Jack was in town somewhere. So, it made sense to have Jack be the bait, keeping Castiel’s presence as a surprise advantage.

As time ticked by, however, he began pacing the narrow breadth of the alley. He prayed Jack was fine and just being cautious, but if the kid didn’t show in another five minutes, he was going to look for him. Plan or not.

Thankfully, he didn’t end up having to do so, as a couple minutes later Jack came darting into the alley, chest heaving from his run and probably not a small amount of panic that naturally came hand in hand with being chased by your worst enemy.

“Great job, Jack. Were you able to sneak the potions into his food and drink?” Castiel asked while keeping an eye on the crowd just beyond their little alley.

“No, he wasn’t eating or drinking anything when I got close. He seemed to be watching the performances, but I could tell he was watching the crowd.”

Not anything that Castiel hadn’t expected, but it had been worth a shot. “That’s fine. Just give me the potions and I’ll— What’s this?”

He blinked at the singular vial that Jack held out to him. One of the pair that had been in the velvet bag.

“The potion,” Jack replied, as if it was obvious. “I was thinking that it would be mighty difficult to get that Hunter to drink one potion, let alone two. So I combined them. Now you only need to get him to drink one.”

He paused his speech, clearly seeing something in Castiel’s expression. Perhaps horror? “Did I do something wrong?”

Castiel swallowed back any accusations. It was his own fault. He hadn’t told Jack what Rowena had said.

“No, it’s fine. Go. I’ll meet you where we agreed, but if I don’t arrive in two hours, leave town without me.” He shoved the few coins he had managed to scrounge together at Jack.

“I—I don’t want to leave without you.”

“You don’t have a choice. If I don’t come, then go. Now hurry.”

With a brief worried look, Jack did as he was told and ran off into the darkness that was falling as the day faded and night took over.

Castiel could only hope that the bad effect Rowena had warned about wouldn’t ruin the individual functionality of the potions. Or he was about to be in some big trouble.

Mere seconds after Castiel had hid himself in a doorway, he watched as Dean Winchester crept past.

For a moment, Castiel thought that the Hunter might just pass him completely, but then his eyes slid his way and locked onto him.

With all the physical momentum he could muster, Castiel burst from the doorway to meet the Hunter head-on.

Expertly honed reflexes allowed Dean to raise his arm and block Castiel’s blow with ease, before he sprung back, out of reach.

Castiel readied for another attack, but before he could launch it, Dean spoke.

“I know you. Castiel Novak. You’ve got quite the bounty on your head.”

Castiel flinched. He hadn’t expected to be recognized. It was also the first he had heard of a bounty.

_Curses on you, Michael._

Out loud, he said, “Leave the kid alone. He hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s innocent.”

“I doubt that. Besides, orders are orders.”

From his belt, Dean pulled a length of rope with inked markings running along it. Castiel was one hundred percent certain that it was spelled to prevent bound witches from using their magic. The Men of Letter hated witches, but they loved to use enslaved witches to arm their Hunters, creating magical items to capture or kill more of their own kind.

Castiel glared at the rope and the man holding it with all of his disgust. “Do you truly believe that?” he snarled. “That a kid barely out of his teens could have done something so terrible that he deserves to be imprisoned, or even killed? And what about those younger than him? The children? The infants? The families just trying to survive? No, they’re only being hunted because of what they are, not anything they’ve done.”

Why was he trying to reason with this Hunter? He should be finishing this and meeting up with Jack so they could escape.

“Please accept my apology as I don’t take your word for it that all witches are really saints in disguise. In any case, it’s not like I’m judge, jury, and executioner. I’m just the bounty hunter.”

But everything Dean Winchester said was just riling Castiel up even more. He brushed his fingers against the vial concealed in his pocket.

“I’m not claiming all witches are saints. I know _I_ _’m_ certainly not.” Castiel had done many things that were the opposite of saint-like, some which he regretted and some which he’d do again in a heartbeat. But never against an innocent.

“Good,” Dean said, nodding, eyes scanning him, “because I’d have to call you out on it, on account of the fact that you look absolutely sinful.”

Castiel blinked, completely losing the next move that he had been considering.

 _Was—was that flirting?_ “Did you just flirt with me?”

Dean shrugged nonchalantly. “Hunting can be a rather boring job most of the time. Long hours of travelling and tracking. And research.” An over-exaggerated shudder. “I have to entertain myself where I can.”

“By flirting with your prey?”

 _Attack, Castiel!_ he yelled at himself. But he found himself rooted where he stood. He was… curious?

“Why not?” Dean gave him a crooked grin, which set off a strange sensation in Castiel’s belly. “Like I said, I’m just here to collect the bounty. Nothing personal against you or the kid.”

“Then why do it?”

“Saving people. Hunting witches. It’s the family business.”

“Who are you saving, exactly?” Castiel said, bristling at the implication that the murderous Hunters considered themselves to be ‘saviours’, of all things.

“Everybody who has been or would be hurt or misused by your magic.”

“I don’t go around hurting people. Or misusing them.” Castiel wanted to be offended, but he also knew that there were witches out there that abused their magic and used it to take advantage of humans and other witches alike.

“You will,” Dean insisted. “Magic, power, privilege—anything that gives one person an advantage over others is a downward spiral into corruption.”

And Castiel found he couldn’t honestly argue against that statement. Because he agreed with it.

But even still, they were on opposite sides of this war and he had a kid to protect.

“Enough talking,” he finally stated. “Let’s get this over with.”

“As you wish.” And Dean _moved_ , a blur that ended with a punch to Castiel’s gut.

He doubled over with a grunt, but caught the knee that rose up before it could slam into his face.

Holding onto Dean’s leg with one hand, keeping him off balance, Castiel swung his other fist up and into Dean’s chin, making the Hunter stumble back against the wall of the alley, swearing as he wiped a stream of blood from his mouth.

But he recovered quickly and grinned at Castiel. “Not bad, not bad. Is that why you’re not using magic? You want to see if you can beat me without it?”

“Hardly. I just don’t need to bring any other Hunters over by using it.”

Dean pushed off the wall and they began circling each other. “Well, sucks to be you then. Because you definitely won’t win without it.”

Castiel broke the pattern first, faking a punch, then sweeping Dean’s legs out from under him instead. The Hunter dropped and Castiel dropped with him, pining him to the ground.

“That’s fine,” he said, holding Dean with his knees and one hand as the Hunter bucked. With his other, he reached into his pocket and retrieved the vial. “Because I don’t need to win. I just need to subdue you long enough to do this.”

Dean’s green eyes widened as he watched Castiel removed the vial’s cork with his teeth, spitting it off to the side.

As he brought the vial, with it’s softly glowing milky liquid, closer to Dean’s face, the Hunter twisted and writhed even more fiercely. He managed to break a hand free and Castiel had to dodge a swipe at his face.

“Get off me!” the Hunter growled. “Bastard.”

He nearly dislodged Castiel from his position with his thrashing, which forced him to take a more desperate action. As quickly as he could, he released the wrist he had been pining and instead place his palm against Dean’s forehead, knocking his head back against the stone ground.

Castiel winced at the sound of it, but it bought him the few seconds he needed as Dean went limbs went limp, his eyes glazed from the pain.

He adjusted his body so that he was sitting higher up on Dean’s torso, his knees now pinning his arms so he was unable to strike back. Then he used his now free hand to pinch Dean’s nose and brought the vial to his lips.

Tipping the contents into Dean’s mouth, the fluid and lack of oxygen seemed to snap him out of his daze, but he no longer had any leverage to fight back.

Castiel tossed the vial aside to hold Dean’s mouth shut, forcing him to swallow instead of spitting the liquid out.

The Hunter’s green eyes watered as he fought the urge to swallow in order to breath, but in the end, Castiel watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed with the potion moving down his throat.

His eyelids fluttered as the potion took effect, his body sagging, no longer resisting. So, Castiel released him and rose to his feet.

It was over.

Time to leave.

Castiel turned away from Dean, who had started taking in heaving breaths to regain the air in his lungs.

But before he had taken five steps, he heard a plaintive call.

“Wait,” Dean said behind him. “Castiel.”

He was turning around to see what the Hunter was up to now, worried that the potion hadn’t done whatever it had been supposed to do, when he felt a hand on his upper arm.

He spun the rest of the way, raising a fist to strike, but he never made it that far.

He was stopped by the feel of lips suddenly pressed against his own. Frozen in place, with Dean Winchester, a Hunter, kissing him, he wondered what the hell was going on.

Dean’s lips were soft and warm. The kiss, sweet and slow. His arms wrapped around Castiel’s waist in a light embrace.

Castiel wanted to pull the Hunter closer and see what else that mouth had to offer.

And with that thought reverberating in his mind, and a strange new desire making his heart race and stomach twist, he pulled back.

And stared in shock as Dean, green eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed, said, “My love.”

_What?_

Castiel had no idea how to react to that pronouncement.

Dean Winchester, one of the best Hunters in existence, had just called him ‘my love’, as if this was a known fact, set in stone. And this, right after he had _kissed_ him.

The potion was the only explanation for this sudden shift in behaviour, but it was not what he had expected at all. Even if its results had been messed with by the combination of the two vials.

He definitely had some pointed questions for Rowena.

As Castiel stood frozen, lost in the whirlwind of his thoughts, Dean wrinkled his nose. Glancing around at their surroundings, as if seeing them for the first time, he grimaced at the detritus and general filth that filled the narrow alley.

“What are we doing in this alley again? If you wanted some private time, we could just go back home. Not that I’m opposed to getting our semi-public kink on, but this place smells like three-day old death.”

_WHAT THE HELL?!? Kink?_

This just kept getting more and more concerning. What kind of relationship had Rowena made the Hunter think they had?

But he couldn’t leave Dean alone. Not with the spell as screwy as it was. It could stop working the second he left and then he and Jack would be back to square one.

_Jack._

_I have to get him away from Jack. Buy the kid enough time to escape._

So, he said, “Um, yes… Let’s go home?”

Dean chuckled, releasing him from the embrace. “Is that a question? If you wanna stay to watch the fireworks, we can.” But then, rather than stepping away, the Hunter actually stepped closer, reaching up to tug at the lapels of his old jacket, a trench coat he had obtained years ago, now worn threadbare. He tugged until they were only an inch apart.

“There’s no rush. Unless,” Dean said, his voice getting deeper as he leaned in until his lips brushed Castiel’s ear, “you really need it that bad.”

This close, the scent of Dean’s aftershave came to him over the stench of the garbage. Without thinking, he breathed in more deeply.

He raised his hands, but paused. Was he really about to do this?

Dean’s face had lowered into the crook of his neck, nose and lips brushing teasingly against the sensitive skin there.

Placing the hands he had partially raised on Dean’s hips, he whispered, low and gravelly, “I—I do. Need it.”

Against his neck, he felt Dean’s lips curve into a smile and he couldn’t help the tremble that worked its way through him. Clearly, he must be ticklish there. Obviously.

When Dean pulled back, he was wearing a lascivious grin.

“As you wish, love,” he said. Then he let Castiel go in order to take his hand instead, and he led them out of the alley and onto a street, heading away from the square.

And Castiel let him.

They ended up in the area of town where the middle-class folk and their families lived. Rows of uniform brick houses lined the simple cobblestone road, in which children were playing in the last dying light of the sun. As they walked, night began falling in earnest and parents began calling their offspring inside to bed.

Woodsmoke from late dinners served and lye from laundry that had been drying during the day scented the cooling evening air. So much more pleasant than the gutter stench of the lower town where Castiel usually bunked down for the night.

He wondered if Dean had smelled the pungent odours on him that came hand in hand with homelessness when they had been standing so close earlier. If that was the case, he hadn’t let on.

But where was he taking him?

He had expected to be led to one of Sacriloga’s inns, but they had long since passed the business district. The only buildings here were the homes of the labourers, tradesmen, and smaller merchants.

They had been walking in silence, in which Dean seemed completely at ease. From the glances Castiel stole, he was simply enjoying the stroll.

And Castiel was unwilling to break that silence to ask another question that would most likely earn him even more concerned looks.

Eventually they reached a nondescript house, the same as so many others on the block, and Dean turned onto its steps leading up to the front door. And as they entered, his head swivelled in every direction, taking in every detail.

The style of the entryway was simple but sturdy, made with strong woods and minimal embellishments. There were no personal knickknacks in this part of the house that he could see, but the furniture and fixtures were well taken care of.

“I didn’t know you had a place here,” he admitted out loud.

Dean paused at the base of the steps he had been about to climb. Over his shoulder, he shot Castiel a worried look, lips curved down in concern and eyebrow quirked in question.

Immediately, Castiel realized that he had made another mistake.

“What are you talking about?” Dean said, reaching over to gently feel his forehead. “You feeling okay, Cas? You are a little warm.”

_Cas?_

“I’m fine. Sorry. I guess I just forgot, since we’ve been…”

“Travelling?”

“Uh, yes.” Perhaps Dean believed that they had been travelling together as Dean had worked? Absently, he wondered what Dean thought Castiel did for a living while he hunted.

Crises averted—for now—Dean turned back and continued up the stairs. Castiel had nothing to do but follow him.

“I guess that makes sense. I can’t remember exactly when we spoke of it, but I must have told you about it at some point. With work and all, I don’t get back here much, but it is my hometown.”

_Hometown? The Fates have quite the sense of humour to have led me to the hometown of the man mostly likely to kill me._

Before he could further consider this latest stroke of misfortune, Dean reached the top of the steps and turned back to him. Before Castiel knew what was happening, Dean had taken both of his hands in his own.

“I know you signed up for this life when you married me, but I hope you know that if ever living on the road gets too difficult for you, you can always come back here. That’ll always be fine with me. It’s your home now, too.”

If it hadn’t been for Dean holding his hands, Castiel would have fallen right back down those steps. “M—married?”

Dean tugged him up the last few steps and away from the stairs, probably worried he would in fact tumble down them, given the expression on his face. “You sure you’re okay? Maybe we should call it a night.”

“I’m fine, really,” he insisted, but then, as Dean ran his hands along his arms, he recalled what Dean believed they had returned home to do. So, he added, “But I am a little tired. Maybe turning in is a good idea.”

The worry in Dean’s green eyes didn’t disappear, but sympathy joined it. “Alright.”

Then those eyes closed and he pressed another kiss to Castiel’s lips. But this one lingered, and when Dean pulled back, he tilted his head at him. “Cas?”

And that’s when Castiel realized what Dean was looking for. A _real_ kiss. And going by his reactions all evening, he already suspected that something wasn’t right. He needed to assuage the Hunter’s suspicions, at least for the night, in order to give himself time to get away.

So, that left only one course of action.

He lifted his hand, craddling the back of Dean’s head and guiding him forward until their lips touched once again.

But Castiel didn’t stop there. Oh no, he was going full out. No room for error.

He opened his mouth and nipped at Dean’s bottom lip, causing him to gasp. Talking full advantage that gasp, he swept his tongue inside his mouth, teasing and tasting.

Dean’s hands gripped his shirt front, and as his hips pressed forward, Castiel found himself reacting in kind.

He wanted…

A step forward and he had pinned Dean between his body and the wall of the hallway. His thigh found its way between Dean’s legs, and Dean moaned as he ground against it.

The sound had him pressing even harder against Dean, kissing with more ferocity, destroying any semblance of distance between them.

He wanted…

He moved his lips down. To Dean’s jaw. His neck. His collarbone. Wringing out another moan.

When his hand palmed Dean’s ass, the Hunter gasped and husked, “Damn, Cas. Clearly you’re not as tired as you claimed.”

Castiel’s eyes snapped open.

Too far. He’d gone way too far.

What in _Fate_ _’s_ name was he doing?

He tore himself away from the Hunter, who wavered on unsteady feet, licking his lips, green eyes burning.

Castiel determinedly looked away. Dean was spelled, he recalled, and his mind, silent during the kiss, was suddenly screaming at him that he was taking advantage. Even if the rouse was necessary for his own safety, it would be wrong to let things go too far.

“Hey,” Dean said, voice suddenly soft and concerned again. “It’s okay. It’s been a long day.” His hand on Castiel’s cheek gently coerced his gaze back to him. “It’s only the first night of our honeymoon. We have plenty of time.”

As if to prove he wasn’t upset, Dean then gave him a crooked grin full of lusty promises.

Then he released him and continued on to the room at the end of the hall and disappeared inside.

Castiel took the brief reprieve to catch his breath and regain his senses, which felt like they had just been assaulted in all the right ways.

Pulling in lungful after lungful of air, he managed to clear his mind and considered his next move.

He would see this evening through, avoiding anything that could cause the Hunter to become suspicious of their ‘marriage’, and once he’d fallen asleep, Castiel would vanish into the night.

Determination renewed, Castiel entered the bedroom to find Dean stripping down.

Luckily, he was facing away from him, so he didn’t see Castiel’s stride falter.

_Calm breathing, calm breathing._

Knowing what he had to do, he moved to the opposite side of the bed to copy Dean, allowing the Hunter’s actions to guide his own.

After stripping and then washing down in the bathroom—which, thankfully, they did separately—they climbed into bed.

Castiel had never felt more refreshed or more comfortable. He was in a bed—an actual bed!—completely clean and wearing equally clean clothes, namely a pair of Dean’s underwear that he hadn’t questioned Castiel stealing.

“I can’t remember the last time I took a vacation from hunting,” Dean said as they pulled the covers—covers!—up over themselves. “This month is going to be awesome.”

“I agree,” Castiel responded, though he was referring to the next few hours before he’d have to leave that comfortable bed.

He was about to roll over to face the edge of the bed, but before he could, Dean scooted back until his back pressed up against Castiel’s side.

Taking the hint, Castiel rolled the other way instead and wrapped his arm around Dean’s waist.

The Hunter snuggled up against him, and Castiel couldn’t help but be amazed and totally flabbergasted at the turn of events this day had taken.

Following a deep yawn, Dean murmured, “Tomorrow we can make the rounds. Give everyone the good news. If you’re feeling up to it.”

“Of course.”

Now that he was horizontal and on the most comfortable surface that he had had the privilege to sleep on in the last two years, Castiel couldn’t stop a yawn himself.

His eyes closed—just for a little while—and his face fell forward on the pillow, nose brushing against Dean’s hair.

He smelled good. That aftershave he had scented earlier, as well as something sweeter. Sugar and apples?

“G’night, Cas.”

“Goodnight… Dean.”

Something had Castiel suddenly snapping out of the sleep that he hadn’t even realized he had fallen into.

At first, he had absolutely no idea where he was. Heart hammering in his ears, breath stuck in his chest, he froze in place, completely motionless. His eyes were wide open in the pitch black, trying to make out the details of his surroundings.

Beside him, something moved.

Or some _one_.

His head snapped to the side to look, and upon seeing the shape of a person in the bed with him, breathing slow and steady in sleep, it all came back to him.

The Hunter.

Dean.

Who believed himself to be his recently married husband, thanks to Rowena’s potions.

_How did I allow myself to fall asleep?_

Castiel was confounded by that fact, but he pushed it away for future consideration. Because right now, he was awake, and he had things he needed to take care of.

Finally permitting himself to breathe, he began shifting himself away from Dean who had turned in the night and was now sprawled out on his stomach, one leg hooked over Castiel’s and one arm tossed on his chest.

Once, Dean stirred slightly, but in the end he was able to successfully extricate himself.

Or so he had thought, until he heard a sleep-roughened voice behind him say, “Cas?”

_Fates be damned._

I’m just getting a glass of water,” he fibbed, hoping the lie would be sufficient to excuse his actions.

“M-kay. Hurry back. Miss you,” Dean murmured without raising his head.

“I will.”

In the end, he fetched some water and returned to the bed. He knew that, unfortunately, there would be no sneaking away until he was able to ensure a long enough head start before Dean came after him, which he surely would.

Whether as a Hunter, or a man chasing after his missing husband until the spell wore off.

In this instance, the length of time between him leaving that room and Dean realizing he wasn’t coming back would _not_ be enough.

He still had a bit more time, in any case. Dean had drunk the potion at sunset the day before, so if Rowena’s time frame for the potions still held true, he had until sunset on the following day.

New plan: He would sneak away from Dean in the morning, citing some excuse that would supposedly occupy him all day, then he would be gone.

After paying Rowena a visit, of course.

Castiel didn’t sleep for the rest of the night, but had lay awake finalizing the details of his plan: the items he would need to gather before leaving town, the route which he would travel, what methods of travel he would use, and what his end destination would be.

As dawn broke, he was as ready as he could be.

Not bothering to be as cautious this time around, he slipped out of bed and began rooting around in the dresser to find clothes he could wear. After pulling on a simple black, short-sleeved shirt and tan trousers, he sniffed at the shirt, breathing in the clean, fresh scent with immense pleasure. And was that… the scent of sugar and apples?

He glanced back at the bed, where Dean still lay, spread out on his stomach.

Sure enough, Hunter instincts having kicked in, Dean’s eyes had cracked open, showing a sliver of green beneath the lashes in an unintentionally sultry look.

The blanket had shifted downward during the night, so the length of Dean’s bare back was on full, glorious display in the morning sunlight. His skin was tanned and marked with a number of scars, which didn’t make him any less gorgeous.

Without really realizing he was doing it, Castiel found himself wondering about the story behind each of those scars.

Then he realized that they had probably been earned in the process of witch hunting, which successfully shook him out of his daze.

_Focus._

Dean had risen up to lean on his elbow, and was looking up at him questioningly.

Quickly, Castiel said, “I have to run some errands today, but I’ll be back by dinner.” That would give him plenty of time.

For good measure he leaned down and gave Dean a brief peck on the cheek.

Dean tilted his head toward him afterwards, but Castiel had already pulled away, which earned him a confused head tilt.

Having done what he could, Castiel gave Dean what he hoped looked like a genuine smile, then turned away and started making his way to the bedroom door.

Dean’s voice stopped him once more. “I thought I was showing you around town today.” Castiel glanced back to see Dean not looking confused or annoyed, but disappointed, eyes cast down and shoulders slumped.

His heart gave a pang that he promptly ignored.

Because, yes, he had forgotten that he had promised to go along with such an outing last evening.

If he backed out now, it would definitely raise Dean’s suspicions, especially since he was supposed to be a stranger to this town. Or worse, Dean would insist on coming with him on his errands so he didn’t get lost.

Reigning in a groan of frustration, Castiel smiled sheepishly at Dean.

“We still are, don’t worry.” He lightly smacked his own forehead for effect. “Did I say dinner? I meant breakfast. Just one fast errand, then I’ll be back.”

Confusion was becoming predominant in Dean’s expression as a frown crept across his brow.

Thinking fast, Castiel’s eyes caught on a fat coin purse sitting on the dresser, and he added, “With coffee.”

And that did the trick.

The burgeoning frown disappeared and those green eyes practically sparkled with anticipation.

Castiel surprised himself by letting out a chuckle that he didn’t have to fake.

“Hurry back,” Dean said, echoing his words from during the night, and he flopped back onto the bed, smiling. “And by the way, you should wear my clothes more often. You look amazing in them.”

Unwillingly flushing, Castiel took his cue and headed out, but he hesitated in the doorway of the bedroom.

“Miss you,” he said, glancing back.

That earned him a lazy grin, full of promise. “Like I said, hurry back.”

Castiel had to tear himself away from that bed, out of that room, out of that house, and out onto the street before he did something he couldn’t even contemplate at that moment.


	4. Chapter 4

“ROWENA!” Castiel bellowed the moment the shop door swung shut behind him.

From her position behind a rack of multi-hued shawls, Rowena cocked her head at him, curious but clearly not concerned.

“Dear me, I would have thought you and the boy would be long gone by now.” She gave him a once-over, gaze shrewd as she scanned. “You look quite dapper today.”

Even though he logically knew that the mixing of the potions had been an honest mistake, and not even on Rowena’s part, her words pricked at him. His insides were already in turmoil from his riotous feelings: annoyance at all his bad luck, fear of getting caught, and frustration at everyone, including himself.

The last, in particular, thanks to the reactions he’d had to Dean Winchester the evening before and that morning.

So, yeah. He wasn’t in the mood for Rowena’s brand of banter.

Marching over to the red-haired witch, he stopped just on the opposite side of the rack.

“What in Fate’s name did you do?” he demanded.

His antagonistic approach and harsh words finally had the desired effect of flustering Rowena.

She played one hand through a lock of her hair while the other tapped on the rack. “Calm yourself before you draw unwanted attention.”

For a second, Castiel panicked at the thought that they weren’t alone in the shop, but after he’d panned his gaze around, he confirmed that it was empty.

Nonetheless, he drew in a breath and tried to reign in his wayward emotions. He usually didn’t have this much difficulty controlling himself, but Dean had brought everything to the surface and he wasn’t sure if he liked it.

Pushing that topic aside, he tried again with Rowena: “The potions. What _exactly_ were they meant to do?”

Rowena’s response to the question was to wave a dismissive hand in the air. “They weren’t overly complicated, Castiel. One was a memory potion, to erase the Hunter’s last month or so of memory, including those of you and Jack. The other was my own design. An altered love potion, meant to give him a temporary affection for all witches, and hopefully dull his drive to hunt us.”

The connection to Dean’s sudden belief that they were in love and married, along with a shared history of an indefinite length, was abruptly made quite clear.

He cursed. An infrequent occurrence for him, but he figured the situation warranted it. “That would explain it.”

Rowena’s eyes narrowed at his comment. “Oh, dear boy, you didn’t? After I specifically told you not to?”

Castiel sighed. “I hadn’t told Jack. He combined the potions while trying to help, and by then it was too late. I didn’t have a choice but to administer it.”

With a roll of her eyes, Rowena moved out from behind the rack and headed toward the chairs between the bookshelves. Castiel followed, and after taking her own seat, Rowena gestured for him to take a chair next to her.

“Tell Auntie Rowena all about it,” she said, legs crossed and arms placed casually, but leaning toward him, giving him her undivided attention. She also wore what Castiel suspected was a genuine smile, though she tried to cloak in pity. As if she were… eager?

He frowned at her. “You seem mighty pleased all of a sudden.”

“More… curious. Clearly the potions didn’t work as intended, since you’re here and not on your way to parts unknown, but it also begs the question: What effect did combining the two actually have? My intellectual curiosity has me intrigued.”

Just as he had suspected. “This isn’t an experiment. My life and Jack’s are in danger.”

“And that must be terrible for you. But I also can’t help you fix it if you don’t tell me what happened.”

He reigned in the growl that wanted to escape his throat. He was determined to control himself going forward. No more errant and overly revealing reactions.

“The potion seems to have…made the Hunter believe he’s in love with me.”

Unsurprisingly, Rowena devolved into a fit of laughter.

Restraining himself even more, Castiel simply crossed his arms and waited, unamused, for her hearty chuckles to subside, repeating to himself the mantra that he needed her help.

Finally, she ceased and wiped imaginary tears from her eyes.

“Oh dear, tell me more!”

Resigned, he explained more about what had happened. “He remembers he’s a Hunter, along with his friends and family, but his recent memories seem to have been…affected. He thinks we are in a relationship, and have been for a while, at least, from the familiarity with which he spoke.”

Over the next half hour, Rowena continued to ask for more details of the events and Dean’s emotional mindset, which he provided, covering everything from the time he and Jack had left her shop to the moment he had walked back in that morning.

He left out the part about Dean believing they were recently married and on their honeymoon. As well as the full extent of Dean’s flirtatiousness and physical affection, and his own reactions to it. Surely, Rowena didn’t need _that_ much detail to get the general picture.

Afterwards, he asked the one question he desperately needed the answer to: “Can you fix it? Can you make a new potion to reverse the effects and do what the original potions had been supposed to do? And how long will it take? This potion could wear off by sunset today.”

Rowena rolled her eyes at him. “You’re talking about three different potions. One to do the reversal, and then the original two.” She stood and began pulling thick, leather-bound books off the shelves around them. “The original potions are easy enough to whip up a new batch of. But the reversal potion…”

“You can’t do it?”

From the look she gave him then, clearly that question offended the red-haired witch.

Letting the books drop loudly on a nearby coffee table, she said, “Oh, I can do it. Have no doubt about my abilities, my dear. But it will take time.”

“How much time?”

“I haven’t the foggiest. But let’s say… a while. And if the potion wears off in the meantime, well, you’ll just have to deal with it then.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but she held up her hand for silence.

“Potions and spells to reverse mistakes from other potions and spells are notoriously tricky, because most of the time that particular mistake, with those particular effects, has never occurred, and so the spell or potion to reverse it must be equally novel.”

Castiel tried to tell her that he understood the complexities of witchcraft—he was no novice—but she was not finished with her tirade.

“In this case, I doubt anyone has mixed a memory potion and a love potion together. There would be no point, since a true love potion would make the target love the person no matter what memories they held. Not to mention that, as you discovered, the mixing of two potions, can have disastrous consequences.”

He opened his mouth to try again, but Rowena beat him to it.

“AND! On top of that, this wasn’t even your garden variety love potion. It was a unique, diluted affection potion to be targeted at a group of people, rather than a specific person, which will make counteracting it even more difficult.”

When Rowena paused to take a breath, Castiel took the opportunity to stand and begin backing toward the exit.

“I appreciate what you’re doing,” he said honestly. “Please let me know once the reversal potion and new potions are ready.”

And with that, he finally made his escape before Rowena could protest, claim she wouldn’t make it, or ask for compensation in return.

He knew that deep, deep down inside Rowena was essentially a good person, so he was sure that she would come up with something, even if it cost him something in the future.

So, with that sorted, he had little to do other than fetch the promised coffee and head back to Dean’s place for the time being. At least he could take advantage of having a roof over his head, money in his pocket, and, hopefully soon, food in his belly while it lasted.

He fingered the heavy coin purse that he had snagged on his way out of the house. Yes, he would definitely be taking full advantage of the privileges that came with being “married” to a Hunter.

When Castiel returned with a packet of aromatic ground coffee and a bag of pastries from the bakery that he had always eyed, but never entered, he went straight to the kitchen to get a kettle of water heating.

In the cold cellar he located some sausage links, as well as jars of fried beans and a jar of tea leaves in the pantry. His anticipation for the meal to come had him humming to himself as he worked.

As the savoury scents enveloped him, followed by the nutty aroma of the coffee, his stomach twisted and growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten in way too long. He patted his flat stomach soothingly, promising it untold delights to come.

He was just placing everything on a serving tray when, without warning, someone grabbed his waist from behind.

For a split second, he froze, blood pounding behind his eyes, breath trapped in his lungs. Breaking out of the panic, he dropped the scone he had been holding onto the counter and spun around—only to find Dean looking a little sheepish as he released him.

“Sorry, Hunter habit. Didn’t meant to startle you.” He sniffed at the air. “It smells delicious in here though.”

Castiel turned back to the counter, using the excuse of finishing his task to collect himself. Dean thought that his silent approach had simply surprised him, not realizing that he had nearly triggered Castiel’s fight or flight instinct, honed from years on the run, and had only just avoided a right hook to the nose.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said once he had calmed his racing heart. “Although I had planned on bringing this to you in bed,” he added the last part with what he hoped was just the right amount of flirtatiousness.

Picking up the completed tray, he turned back to Dean. Clearly, he had nailed it, because Dean winked at him, while wearing a sinful smirk. “It’s not too late to go back up.” His voice lowered. “I could pretend to still be asleep and you could wake me up with a kiss.”

Castiel was extremely grateful for the tray between them, acting as a kind of barrier, as he was abruptly reminded that Dean believed they were on their honeymoon. And honeymoons came with certain _expectations_.

Knowing he couldn’t just say “no” or Dean would ask questions, Castiel bit his lip, as if tempted to give in to Dean’s temptation (which was not as difficult to fake as it should have been), and said in a mournful voice, “We should eat at the table if we want to get going today. Places to go, people to see.”

With a regretful sigh, Dean leaned forward, gently took the tray from Castiel and gave him a peck on the lips. “Alright. I hate it, but you’re right.”

Guilt poked at him.

Why did he feel guilty? They weren’t actually married! And Dean was a Hunter, for _Fate_ _’s_ sake.

Finally, they sat down at the table to eat.

Castiel purposefully slowed himself down from just scarfing all the food all at once, but he still finished long before Dean, who lingered over his sausages and took long intermissions for coffee.

After he had finished, Castiel sat quietly, sipping his tea as Dean ate.

They had been silent as they had eaten, but now Castiel felt as if he should be talking, or at least doing something other than just sipping his tea and staring at Dean.

So, he decided to ask a question he had been curious about ever since he had heard of Dean Winchester. But he had to phrase it correctly…

“I know you’ve told me before,” he began, hoping that would remove any suspicion, “but can you tell me again why you decided to be a Hunter?”

At first Dean just blinked at him, mouth full of food. But then he shrugged and swallowed, before saying, “Sure. Though, it really wasn’t much of a decision. With Dad being part of the Men of Letters and Mom being a Hunter, it just seemed like a natural move.”

“But you’re so… efficient at it. You must have had some motivation yourself to become a Hunter.”

Dean shrugged again. “I suppose. Don’t get me wrong. Saving people is why I do it, why I may have ended up doing it even if it weren’t for my parents, but they were the ones who really started me on the path, and why I got so good. They started training me young. Sam too, but he took the other path.”

A pang of sympathy stabbed at Castiel. “That must have been difficult as a kid. Pressure from family can be suffocating.” His coven had begun training the young ones, including himself, in magic from the time they were out of diapers, and he guessed that being trained by a Hunter _and_ a Woman of Letters could potentially have been even worse.

He hadn’t known, however, that Dean Winchester had a brother. From Dean’s comment, it sounded like his brother had taken after their father, becoming a Man of Letters, while Dean had taken after their mom, becoming a Hunter.

He filed that tidbit of information away for later.

“You—” Dean had begun saying, but then he frowned. “I don’t remember you telling me about your family. Why—why is that?”

Castiel gripped the table, preparing himself to run, as Dean rubbed at his temples, as if fighting off a headache. But a second later, his eyes lifted to Castiel and he saw the green irises flash with a neon fluorescence, and simultaneously, Dean’s expression cleared.

With a wry smile now, he said, “I know you don’t like talking about them, but you should.” He reached for Castiel’s hand across the table and held it familiarly. “Whenever you’re ready, however you want to do it, I’m here.”

The potion had worked its magic, Castiel realized, allowing Dean to gloss over the fact that he knew absolutely nothing about Castiel prior to the previous day.

But in any case, the topic had gotten out of hand, so Castiel dropped the subject and Dean went back to finishing his breakfast.

Leaving Castiel wondering how much longer he had before the botched potion wore off and if Rowena would finish the reversal and replacement potions in time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Three days later** **…**

Over the last few days, Castiel had established the habit of going out for a walk in the early mornings, which was Dean’s least favourite time of day, thus guaranteeing himself some brief time alone. He used that time to check in with Rowena about the reversal potion status.

Each morning she’d had no news, other than that she was working on it.

This morning, however, she had informed him that Balthazar had messaged her, wanting to talk with him. So, now he was sitting down in front of Rowena’s crystal ball, in the back of her shop, watching the translucent smoke swirling within as he waited for Balthazar on the other end.

Finally, the smoke turned a shimmering blue and Balthazar’s voice spoke from the crystal ball.

“Castiel?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Fates, Cassie. It’s been ages since you last wrote to me.”

Castiel winced. “I’m sorry for not corresponding more, but it is great hearing from you. Living as I have been… Well, you know how it is. It’s often difficult just to find paper to write on. However, as Fate would have it, I am actually currently in a position where I can write to you as frequently as I wish. But more on that later. First, how are you?”

“Oh, I’ve been good. I’ve gotten pretty established in the town I’m living in. But I didn’t reach out to talk about me.”

Castiel had suspected that was the case, but he still sighed. “Rowena told you?”

“Not quite. Guess who just showed up on my doorstep with a tale about you.” Mutedly, as if said in the background, he heard Balthazar telling someone to say hi.

Then that person spoke into the crystal ball. “Hi, Castiel.”

“Jack? Is that you?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Are you really okay? Rowena said you were, but I’ve still been worried, and—”

“Jack, I’m okay. Honestly.”

“But what about the Hunter? I’m so sorry about the potions. Did they still work? What happened after—”

“Jack! Everything is fine. I don’t blame you for the potions. That was my fault. There were some… complications. But it’s all being handled. There’s nothing you need to worry about. Just focus on taking care of yourself. Okay?”

A resigned sigh. “Okay.” A pause. “Are you coming here?”

“Not just yet,” Castiel admitted. “There are a few things I need to do here first.” One in particular, named Dean. “But hopefully we can see each other soon.”

“One moment, Cassie,” Balthazar said. Then there was some muffled conversation and a clanging sound, before Balthazar’s voice came back through the crystal ball. “There, I’ve distracted him with a pointy object. Now we can _talk_.”

“A pointy object?”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“Right.”

“So, tell me everything.”

Castiel hedged. “How much do you know?”

“You want to do it this way? Alright. Well, according to Jack: A Hunter followed him to the town where you’ve been staying. You guys came up with a plan to get away, but something went wrong and you didn’t show up to meet Jack. He waited and waited—longer than he should have, he admits—and he searched all night for you.”

Jack had stayed in town? If he had known… No, it wouldn’t have changed anything. He still would have had to stay with Dean.

“Brave kid, in my opinion,” Balthazar continued. “Finally, he went to Rowena the next day and she told him that he had just missed you. She told him you were okay, and that’s when she directed him my way.”

And Rowena hadn’t mentioned anything at all about Jack to him, he fumed.

But Balthazar wasn’t done yet. “Now, I have questions: One, are you really okay? Because we both know how Rowena can ‘overlook’ certain pertinent details. Two, what happened with the Hunter? Details, Cassie. Details. And three, what, in Fate’s name, am I supposed to do with the kid? I don’t do kids, Cassie. You know this. Everyone knows this. Why Rowena sent him to me, I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“He’s not a child, Bal. I don’t believe there’s much you need to do at this point, other than to watch out for him and be there for him if he needs you.”

“Alright.” Silence. “But how do you do that?”

Castiel groaned. “Just don’t let him die and listen to him.”

“I think I can do that. Maybe. We’ll see.”

He rolled his eyes at his friend, knowing Balthazar couldn’t see him.

“Cassie.”

“Yes?”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you haven’t answered my first two questions.”

 _Fates._ Giving in, he said, “Yes, there was a Hunter. Yes, we had a plan, and yes, it failed. But it failed in unexpected ways, which is what I will now divulge to my infinite embarrassment, because you are my friend. At least I am not there in person, so I can just disconnect if I must.”

“Rude. But go on.”

“Essentially, there was an incident with a potion and the Hunter was spelled to… to believe himself in love with me. And… to even believe that we have had a long-standing relationship and are now married.” The last part he said as quickly as he could possible manage in the hope that Balthazar would overlook certain details.

“I can hear you laughing already.”

And sure enough, hearty laughter was echoing over their connection. Finally, he gasped out, “Married!”

Castiel ignored him and forged ahead. “Until Rowena can craft a reversal potion, I have to pretend to be who the Hunter believes me to be—his husband. Needless to say, it has been a terrifying, frustrating, and peculiar couple days since it all started. And yet… it hasn’t been the terrible ordeal I had originally feared.”

The laughter quieted. “Oh? How so, Cassie?”

“Well… Um… There are certain… advantages.”

“I’m sure,” Balthazar said, his voice dripping with innuendo.

“Not that! I wouldn’t… Not that. I mean, clean clothes. A roof over my head. _Food. Fates_ , Bal. The food alone would be almost worth staying for.”

A pause. “Were things really that bad before, Cas? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I—I didn’t want to burden you.”

“I know. I know how you are. But Cas, I’m your friend. That basically what I’m here for.”

“Thanks, Balthazar,” he said. Even though he had no intention of laying his troubles on his friend.

“You’re really okay now, though?”

“Yes.” And surprisingly, he found that he actually was.

“Good. So, details. Spill.”

And he told Balthazar everything from the time Jack left the alley to him sitting there in front of Rowena’s crystal ball, including the events of the last few days, during which Castiel had progressively met all of Dean’s friends and family.

For the most part it had been surprisingly ordinary. He liked Jody and Donna, who were two Hunters who visited from out of town.

Rufus and Bobby, he was less sure about. Hanging out with two salty, retired hunters in a bar had never been his idea of a good time. The two old men had been cordial enough, but he got the feeling that they were still running him through their approval process. Especially Bobby, who clearly had fatherly affection toward Dean, if his warning to treat him right or else was anything to go by.

Dean had wanted to take him to the Men of Letters building in Sacriloga, to meet Charlie and his brother’s girlfriend, Eileen, but Castiel had managed to get out of that one. Entering the territory of the enemy was too much, even with Dean by his side.

The most nerve-racking experience of all, unsurprisingly, had been meeting Dean’s family. Between his own lies and the effects of the potion, he and Dean had been able to mold the news of their abrupt “nuptials” into the realm of social acceptability with Dean’s friends. With his family, however, there was no such opportunity to glaze over the lie.

Family—at least family that was close, as Dean’s was—naturally expected to be informed of developments in the social relationships of its members. Particularly romantic relationships. So, going from never having even heard Dean mention Castiel before to being married to him, came as quite the shock.

Thankfully, the potion provided Dean with a generalized tale that worked within his life, and which Castiel went along with entirely, adding a few extra details and comments here and there. A whirlwind romance. Constantly on the road, so unable to stop by. Didn’t want to miss out on the opportunity to start their new life together.

For the most part, Dean’s parents seemed to buy the tale they wove. Like Bobby, they mostly wanted to ensure that he was the best partner for their son and were reserving judgement until they had gotten to know him better.

His brother, Sam, on the other hand, was clearly suspicious of every word that came out of their mouths. Castiel received the distinct impression that he and Dean were closer than anyone else Dean knew, and that bond had him frowning when they skipped over details, narrowing his eyes when something didn’t quite add up, and asking probing questions that made Castiel’s heart race in fear that this could be the one that blew his cover.

Not that Dean would care, under the spell as he was, but his family of a senior Hunter and a Woman and Man of Letters would not be pleased that their son had been hoodwinked by a witch.

In the end, he had left the Winchester residence with a firm handshake from John, a hug from Mary, an “I’m keeping an eye on you” nod from Sam, and no witch burnings. So, he’d call it a success.

“You’re playing a risky game,” Balthazar said back in the present. “You should have just knocked him out and left once you realized that the potion failed.”

“I didn’t know what other effects there were,” Castiel argued. “If I had left and this potion never wore off on its own, then I would have been stuck with a love-sick Hunter chasing me for the rest of his days. And if it did wear off but he remembered me, then I would have had an extremely pissed off Hunter chasing me. This way, I can control what happens, which I see as taking the lesser risk.”

“Then you should have killed him. You had—have—him at your mercy. You could still do it. Then you’d be free.”

Castiel tried to imagine sinking a knife into Dean’s back as he slept in the bed that they shared. Or using magic to snap his neck as he brewed coffee in the kitchen. He would be completely unsuspecting. Totally taken by surprise.

But he couldn’t do it. Each time, his mind shied away from the act. Dean dying. Dead. He couldn’t picture it. Didn’t want to see it.

He’d killed before. There had been other hunters on his trail before Dean. He’d never hesitated to make the finishing blow whenever the opportunity arose.

But those times he had been fighting for his life. This time… was different. It was just… different.

“No,” he said aloud. “Dean’s not a threat to me.”

“Right now,” Balthazar countered.

He shook his head, even though Balthazar couldn’t see him. If Dean ever became a threat, he would… do what was necessary. Even as he shuddered at the thought.

“It’s too late anyway,” he countered right back. “His friends and family have met me. They know who I am. If something happens to Dean now and I disappear…”

“Alright, alright.” A sigh. “You’ve gotten yourself into quite the mess, Cassie.”

“At least there are perks,” he said, trying to steer the conversation back to safer topics. “This morning I had the most delicious waffles.”

“Were they served in bed? With a side of sausage, perhaps?”

“Uh, no. We ate in the kitchen.”

“Cas…”

“What? … Oh! Balthazar! We’re not…” his voice tapered off into a flustered whisper, “ _doing it_.”

To Castiel’s mortification, Balthazar roared with laughter.

“Balthazar.”

Stifled laughter. “But you said he thinks you’re on your honeymoon, correct?”

“Yes…”

“Well, perhaps you’re not aware, but there are certain _expectations_ of—”

Castiel’s cheeks burned. “I am _aware_ ,” he snapped. “We’re not having sex!” His gaze darted to the closed door, praying that Rowena hadn’t heard his outburst.

Silence.

“I wouldn’t take advantage of someone who’s spelled.”

More silence.

He groaned. “For the sake of my own safety that relies on keeping up appearances, there may have been some _other things_ that we’ve done.”

And Castiel’s mind flew back to the kisses they had shared, and his bit his lip in response.

“Like?”

“Balthazar, I am _not_ going into those details with you.” Not that there were many details. The most they had done was some light touches during the kisses.

“Come on, Cassie. You’re probably the only witch living who’s ever gotten down and dirty with a Hunter, and you’re going to get stingy on me?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. I will just have to imagine all the things you could have done. And trust me, my imagination is vivid and extremely raunchy.”

“You are quite literally the worst friend.”

“But you love me anyway.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “I do. I have to go though. I’ve already been away too long. Tell Jack to stay safe.”

“I will. Stay safe yourself, Cas. Be careful around your Hunter. In more ways than one. Don’t let yourself get attached.”

“I won’t. Bye, Balthazar.”

He wasn’t getting attached.

Was he?

Upon opening the door after returning home after his call with Balthazar, he was greeted by a rainbow of flower petals strewn across the entry way and up the stairs. There were even some shades that Castiel hadn’t even known existed, like a purple petal that was so dark it was nearly black. Dean must have raided the flower shop while he’d been gone.

He followed the sweet-scented trail up to their bedroom.

The door was propped open, allowing the morning light to stream into the hall. Pushing it open the rest of the way, he was greeted with a gorgeous sight.

Dean, stretched across the bed on his stomach, gloriously naked. His head was at the foot of the bed, nestled in his arms as he slept. While Castiel’s eyes travelled leisurely from those muscled arms and broad shoulders, down the dip of his back and over the tantalizing swell of his ass, he realized that Dean must have fallen back asleep while waiting for him to return. After having done all this work, no less.

Because the flower petals weren’t the only changes. There was also feast of meats and cheeses from the deli, and his favourite pastries from the bakery, laid out on the side table. A pot of tea, snuggly tucked into a tea warmer, sat beside a carafe of coffee.

Castiel wandered over and sniffed at it all, his mouth watering. He snagged a piece of cheese, then strolled back to the bed.

It would be rude to enjoy all this without the one who had done it for him.

And such a gesture deserved a special awakening from any doting husband. Which was what Castiel was trying to be, of course.

He leaned down and brushed his lips against Dean’s cheek. His jaw line. The back of his neck. His fingers danced along Dean’s side, tickling and teasing.

After a moment of the soft touches, Dean stirred. His eyes fluttered open drowsily. When the green eyes cleared and focused on him, his mouth turned up in a sleepy smile.

“Good morning,” Castiel spoke softly.

“G’mornin’,” Dean mumbled in response, followed by a yawn as he rolled over and stretched his arms above his head.

From his angle perched on the side of the bed and his proximity to Dean, Castiel couldn’t see past his waist, otherwise his eyes may have been tempted to drift further downward.

Castiel chuckled. “You haven’t had your coffee yet, have you?” It had only been four days, but already he was learning Dean’s habits and preferences, just as Dean was obviously learning his.

“I was waiting for you,” he said, reaching up and tugging at the scarf that Castiel had put on that morning due to the increasing autumn chill in the air.

This was his favourite side of Dean. Relaxed. Affectionate. Nothing like the nightmare-inspiring Hunter in the tales about him. Also unlike how Dean had been when they had visited everyone. He had been comfortable with his friends, sure, but the frequent touches and unguarded emotions had dropped off considerably. He had been even more tense and distanced at his parents’ house. Though during the moments it had been just the two of them and Sam, he had gotten to see a bit more of the Dean he was familiar with.

He had an inkling that this behaviour from Dean was the only reason why Sam hadn’t called out his lies from the beginning.

“Sorry,” he said to Dean. “I got caught up chatting with an old friend, but I’m here now and I’m starving.”

“S’ok. I’ll forgive you.”

“Why, thank you.”

“ _If_ you thank me properly first.”

Castiel poked him in the chest. “I just thanked you.”

Dean smirked, fully awake now and with those green eyes glimmering with devious intent. “I said _properly_. It was a lot of work preparing all of this, you know.”

Castiel immediately caught Dean’s meaning, his cheeks heating for the second time that morning. His cock, which had already awakened from just the sight of Dean sprawled across the bed, rose to full attention.

He bit on his bottom lip to hold back a whimper of desire as Dean finished tugging off his scarf and promptly dropped it to the floor.

“You are way too overdressed for the occasion,” Dean stated.

And Castiel was tempted. _Oh, so tempted._

Being around Dean nearly constantly over the last three days, combined with the kisses, the touches… It was enough to drive him crazy.

But it didn’t change that fact that Dean was spelled to love him. His actions weren’t truly his own. And his words to Balthazar were the truth.

So while he eagerly shed his coat, dumping it onto the floor alongside the scarf, the rest of his clothing remained.

“Come here,” Dean called, and he obeyed.

Their mouths met in a hungry kiss, devouring and claiming.

_Won_ _’t go too far._

No, Castiel wouldn’t let things get out of hand like he almost had that first time. He wouldn’t abuse Dean like that. But he couldn’t hold back entirely either.

Kisses. Kisses were good.

As he felt the heat ramping up between them, the hands groping more freely, their bodies pressing more urgently against each other, he knew he had to take action.

And so, using the smallest spark of magic possible, he regretfully made a spark from their fireplace mysteriously escape the grate and alight on their rug, starting a teeny tiny fire.

The smoke and flames sufficiently distracted Dean from his original intentions.

This time.

The next three weeks passed in series of snapshots to Castiel, punctuated by more kisses followed by ‘strange occurrences’ that always seemed to distract them. Even still, each time his guilt over his actions increased.

There were moments when Dean’s frustration seemed to rise and he appeared about to call him out on it, but he always stopped himself. Perhaps it was the spell, or perhaps it was just Dean being Dean and not wanting to pressure Castiel into doing something he was clearly avoiding by that point.

If Rowena took much longer, however, Castiel knew that he and Dean would have to have a _talk_ about it. But whenever he checked, she still had no news on the reversal potion other than that she was still working on it.

They visited Bobby and Sam a few times, and had a brief, awkward tea with his parents’. Jody even called Dean over to get his advice on a case she was working.

Thankfully, it hadn’t, but it had allowed Castiel to see more the Dean’s working side. Which still didn’t match up to the stories. Castiel was beginning to wonder if they had had any truth to them at all.

Dean was thorough about the cases he took, only accepting ones that involved murder or similar severe crimes. Castiel wanted to ask about Jack’s case, but didn’t want to bring the young witch to Dean’s attention, just in case.

He learnt that Sam often assisted on Dean’s cases, providing information and leads, ensuring that the truly guilty were caught and punished, while the innocent remained free. It was an unpopular method in the Men of Letters and Hunter communities, to no surprise, and Castiel couldn’t help appreciating them for it.

He spoke to Balthazar as well, checking in with Jack, who claimed to miss him but was doing well.

Through it all, Castiel became more and more adjusted to living with Dean. To being his husband. Each new side that Dean showed him was a revelation. Each gesture was the most amazing surprise. Sure, he had his flaws—he was as stubborn as the _Fates_ , for one—but those flaws just added to his character and made him more of a man than the myth that Castiel had previously known him as.

After Dean climbed into bed late and upset one day after a solo visit with his dad, and Castiel had, without hesitation, pulled him into his arms and just held him until he fell asleep, he knew he was in trouble.

He was falling for Dean Winchester, and falling fast.

The next day, when Castiel saw the folded note left on his dresser, he knew exactly who it was from and what it said before he even opened it.

He sat on the bed and stared at the untouched parchment where it lay.

Dean was out running some kind of errand—a ‘surprise’ he had said—so Castiel had nothing to interrupt him from his staring.

The minutes crept toward an hour and still his mind whirled and whirled, keeping him rooted on the bed.

When the sudden cawing of a crow right outside his window finally snapped him from his stupor, he bolted to his feet and strode with purposeful intention to the dresser.

Snatching up the letter, sure enough, Rowena’s elegant handwriting greeted him. _Castiel._

Unfolding it with a grave hesitance, he read: _They_ _’re ready. You may pick them up this evening. -RM_

Letting the note flutter back down onto the dresser, he stepped back and sank onto the bed, his hands rising to cradle his head as he lowered it.

He was relieved and frightened.

He was grateful and sad.

It had been ages and come all too soon.

Downstairs, the front door opened.

Without thought, Castiel rose from the bed and made his way downstairs.

As always, the moment Castiel came into sight, Dean’s eyes focused on him, seemingly blind to everything else behind him. It made Castiel’s heart pound and his guilt rise, every time.

Dean moved toward him and he moved toward Dean in turn, meeting him halfway. Hand cupping the back of his neck, Dean pulled him into a kiss that he had already been anticipating.

It was slow and sweet. Their standard kiss, which the two of them had somehow fallen into the habit of greeting each other with after they had been apart for more than five minutes.

One of the many things that Castiel was going to miss when it was all over.

And just like that, his mood which had brightened from Dean’s presence, fell back into the dark, swirling void of uncertainty from before.

He drew back from Dean and asked, “So, what’s this surprise?” And no, he was not stalling his departure to Rowena’s.

Dean gave him that wicked grin that made his insides twist in torturous anticipation. “You’ll find out tomorrow.”

“Why tomorrow?”

“Well, if you’ve lost track of time, I’m not about to spoil it for you.” Dean shrugged and began walking to the kitchen.

_Lost track of time?_

As Dean pulled out everything he needed for dinner, Castiel simultaneously assisted and pondered on what he could have meant.

Tomorrow was precisely one month since their first encounter, but, as far as he knew, there was otherwise nothing special about the date.

He and Dean worked harmoniously to get dinner ready and soon enough the kitchen had filled with the savoury aromas.

Dinner itself was a casual affair. The two of them usually caught the other up on their day if they had been apart or shared their opinions on events if they had been together.

This night, Castiel updated Dean on the little window-box garden he had stared. Though he kept to himself the fact that he wasn’t sure why he had taken such an initiative in the first place since he was not going to be living their permanently.

In fact, with the spells ready, his time was actually up.

And that thought just kind of hit him with even more force than when he had seen the note.

He became quiet, stopped eating because he was suddenly no longer hungry, but Dean noticed. So instead of just sitting there, he began gathering up their dishes and dragged his morose self into the kitchen where he could be conflicted in peace.

A short while later, washing furiously, he didn’t hear Dean come up behind him until his arms wrapped around him, forehead resting on his shoulder. But by now he was used to Dean’s sneak-attack hugs and the plate he was holding didn’t even slip back into the soapy water.

“Everything alright?”

Feeling his body relax in Dean’s embrace, he placed the clean plate into the drying rack and leaned back into it, dishes temporarily forgotten.

“Everything is fine,” he lied.

He felt Dean’s lips press against his neck in a gentle kiss, and he tilted his head for more, which Dean obliged.

“Okay,” Dean said. “But if there was anything, anything at all, you could tell me. Please tell me if anything is bothering you.”

Castiel’s breath caught, and the urge to spill all his secrets, tell Dean everything rose up and slammed him hard.

Then Dean entwined their hands, and the urge died as he stared at the bare spot on their left hands where wedding rings would go. But there had never been any wedding rings. There never would be.

Dean was only saying these things, _doing_ these things, because of the potion. It hadn’t been his choice to fall in love with him.

“I will,” he managed to say through his tightening throat. Another lie.

He closed his eyes. Ashamed at himself.

Dean pressed another kiss to his shoulder blade and released him, leaving him alone. A state that Castiel was dreading being in once more.

When he finally emerged from the kitchen, he found Dean in the living room, going through his nightly routine of cleaning and maintaining his assortment of weapons.

He watched from the threshold and wondered what would happen if he only gave Dean the reversal potion, but not the other two—the ones he had originally tried to give him.

Then, Dean would not be spelled anymore, but he would also remember everything that had happened over the last month.

Castiel winced.

Dean would hate him for what he’d done. As he should.

But they had also bonded since then. At least, Castiel had. Perhaps Dean would feel the same if he remembered everything.

It was risky. Very risky.

Was it worth it?

He shifted and Dean looked up. When he saw it was him, he smiled and waved him over.

Like a firefly to the light of a candle flame, Castiel went to him. He curled up against Dean’s side, basking in the warmth. Dean wrapped an arm around him and Castiel felt more comfortable than he had ever felt before.

Yes. The answer was yes.


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel, stretched across the couch and Dean’s lap, his fingers carding through his hair, was on the verge of falling asleep, when something pricked at his senses.

There were witches approaching the house. From the number and strength of the pings he was getting, they were strong and there were a lot of them.

“Cas?” Dean must have felt him tense.

He sat up, asking, “Where are your weapons?”

Dean frowned. “Most are in the chest in our room. Why? What’s wrong?”

“Get them.”

He stood, letting his magic simmer under his skin. He wouldn’t use it unless he absolutely had to, but if he did, he’d be ready.

Rather than going upstairs, Dean withdrew a knife from under the side table, his eyes scanning the room.

“Cas, tell me what’s going on.”

But Castiel just shook his head. He couldn’t explain. Not without giving away his secret.

The witches were close. Castiel could feel their magic humming. They weren’t even trying to hide it as he always had, or as Jack had.

A surge of power by the front entrance was the only warning before the door was blown off its hinges.

Castiel made to step forward, but Dean’s arm stopped him. Remaining focused on the dark-cloaked figures moving rapidly through the smoke and debris, he held out his knife to Castiel.

“Keep it,” Castiel insisted. “You’ll need it more than me.”

“I have more.” And he raised his other hand, showing off an even larger knife that Castiel hadn’t even noticed.

Obligingly, Castiel took the knife. If he could make it through this without revealing his magic, it would be a miracle, but at least he could try.

Dean backed them toward the window as a total of eight figures formed a half-circle around them. Castiel tried to squint through the shadow cast by their hoods, but he suspected the shadows had been deepened with magic to disguise their faces.

He did, however, observe the pins holding each of their cloaks—each was shaped into a five-pointed star with the lowest point being longer than all the rest. The symbol of the Morningstar Coven. Lucifer’s coven.

“Where is he?” one of the figures growled.

Jack, Castiel realized. They were searching for Jack. Most likely they had tracked the kid to Sacriloga and had targeted him either because they had learnt of the connection between them, or simply because he was one of the only two witches in town.

So, there was a chance that these people had no idea who he or Dean were.

Before he had a chance to test his theory, however, Dean spoke.

“As you can see there are only the two of us here, and you are trespassing on private property. I suggest you all leave before I have you arrested by the sheriff, who happens to be a close personal friend, and be thankful that I don’t hold you accountable for the damage to our door.”

Castiel glanced over at Dean, confused. Surely Dean, being a Hunter, must have recognized the symbol of one of the major covens, as he had.

That confusion passed a moment later when Dean shifted again, placing himself even more in front of Castiel and pressing him back toward the window. Specifically, the window that they had left open during the unseasonably warm evening.

Dean was protecting him, placing himself between Castiel and the threat, and ensuring that he had an escape route.

He wasn’t attacking because he wanted Castiel to get away unharmed.

But, _Fates be damned_ , he wasn’t leaving. Dean might need his help. As amazing a Hunter as Dean was, even he had his limits against eight powerful witches.

A few of the witches had chuckled at Dean’s threat.

The witch who had first spoken, who seemed to be the leader, pointed at Castiel. “You. We know you have had contact with him. Tell us where he is.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Castiel lied.

The leader witch took a step closer, causing Dean to tense and raise his knife higher.

“Tell us,” he said, “or your pet dies.” And as he spoke, he used a telekinetic spell to lift a large splinter of the former door aloft before him, pointing its sharpest point directly at Dean.

Castiel bristled. He felt his magic spark between his fingers.

With a whispered word, he imbued surety and sharpness into the knife and let it fly.

It landed with perfect accuracy in the leader witch’s heart. He fell to the floor while everyone except Castiel watched in shock.

Castiel, in that second, bolted for the fireplace and snatched up the iron poker. Dean, who had been just as surprised by the death of the witch, followed Castiel’s lead and sprang into action.

Giving both the poker and his limbs additional strength and speed, he swung at the head of his first opponent as he was attempting a spell. His skull gave way to the iron and he dropped, spell unfinished.

Dean had already dealt with two opponents. It looked like he had stabbed the first one through the eye, as the knife was still protruding from his face, while he had used Castiel’s knife, pulling it from the leader witch’s corpse to stab the second in the gut.

As Castiel watched, the gut blow was followed by a slice across the throat, ensuring the witch’s death.

That left four.

Unfortunately, while he and Dean had been dealing with the first witches, these four had had time to encase themselves in magical shields, as well as summoning weapons for themselves.

One had a staff with a yellow, glowing stone. She was moving a hand around the stone and chanting. Castiel focused on her, while Dean targeted a witch who had summoned a bow and quiver of arrows—an ill choice for close-quarters fighting.

Of the last two, one had chosen a long sword and the other a pair of daggers. Castiel knocked both to the ground with a magical tug on the carpet beneath their feet, while Dean was distracted.

The first thing he did to the witch with the staff was to rip away her shield. He dug into it with his own magic and forcibly tore it down.

As he did so, he grinned. These witches were strong, yes. But he was stronger.

Keeping an eye on Dean, he grasped the witch’s staff and, to her surprise, proceeded to force her magic out of it. That staff was a powerful archaic weapon. He wanted it.

They battled for superiority over the staff for a moment, but it wasn’t much contest. Castiel flooded it with his magic and she was forced to release it, even stumbling back from the force of it.

He wasn’t concerned about using his magic, so long as Dean didn’t actually see it. There was so much magic already floating around the room from the other witches, that it didn’t matter if he added to it.

And unleashing his magic, after having held it back for so long, felt _so good_.

 _Fates_ , he had missed the feeling. Like lightning moving through him that he could control. The ultimate rush.

He used the staff to stop the heart of its previous owner, a much more efficient spell than she had been attempting. Then he vanished the staff and tucked it away for safe keeping.

Taking stock of the situation, he observed that Dean had taken care of the witch with the bow. The witch with the long sword, however, seemed to be proving difficult to subdue, thanks to the longer range of the weapon, which kept the witch out of Dean’s reach, as well as the shield that deflected any glancing blows that Dean managed to land.

Subtly, Castiel cast a spell to increase the weight of the sword. The witch’s arm drooped and his movements slowed, and before he realized what had happened, Dean had taken advantage of the opening and moved under his guard. In the split second that followed, Castiel was sure that Dean had him, but the witch had one last trick up his sleeve.

He pulled out a glass orb and smashed it against his chest, releasing a blinding flash of light.

When Castiel’s vision cleared, he was gone.

It was over.

Or so he thought until a sharp pain bloomed in his shoulder.

The witch with the daggers. He had forgotten.

He stumbled and the witch raised the dagger from a second blow. But before she could strike, an arrow bloomed from her forehead. A line of blood dripped down her surprised face, then she tipped back and fell to the floor.

“Cas? Cas, are you okay?”

Dean had dropped the bow, letting it clatter to the floor, and rushed over, pressing one of the blankets from their couch that he snagged on the way to his shoulder. His eyes scanned him for any other signs of injury.

“I’m fine, Dean.” He’d survive anyway. “But you,” he brushed his thumb beneath a slice across the side of Dean’s neck, “you’re hurt, too.” That blow must have been close. Too close.

Dean brushed his hand away. “It’s just a nick.”

Nevertheless, Castiel made Dean do a turn for him, just to reassure himself that the ‘nick’ was the only damage done. There were a few scrapes on his knuckles, but otherwise he was unharmed.

They were both okay.

Then he considered the witch that had gotten away and wondered for how much longer.

To Castiel, the house felt strange and foreign, even long after the last body had been taken away and the last bloodstain removed with a detached efficiency that he had no desire to think about in any depth.

His shoulder had been cleaned and bandaged, as had the cut on Dean’s neck.

Afterwards, he had sat on the sofa, numb, watching the Men of Letters’ clean-up crew do their job, while Dean had overseen the proceedings. Everything that could be cleaned was and anything that had to be replaced would be provided for, until the entire place was immaculate. Missing a few side tables and lamps, but otherwise looking as if nothing had happened at all.

Castiel knew he should be doing something—calling Balthazar to warn him, making sure Rowena was okay—but he just couldn’t bring himself to move.

Dean sat down beside him, but Castiel avoided his gaze.

It was only thanks to Dean that he hadn’t been killed. Or dragged to Lucifer’s coven, perhaps to be traded back to his own in exchange for money or favours.

And it was only thanks to the effects of the mixed potion that Dean had risked his life to save him.

And the guilt was eating him alive.

Dean was a good, kind person. Yes, with a poor choice of occupation, but one that he had been born into without the visibility of other options. And despite said occupation, he had not only managed to maintain a sense of human decency, but also a compassion and a passion that had infected Castiel, body and soul.

He didn’t deserve to be hurt, or even killed, for someone he had been spelled to care about…to “love”.

He didn’t deserve what Castiel had done to him.

There would be no more putting it off. He needed to give Dean the reversal potion, and he needed to do it tonight.

He felt Dean’s arm wrap around his shoulder, pulling him against the hard line of his body. Castiel twisted so his head could drop into the crook of Dean’s neck, his arm wrapping around Dean’s waist, absorbing the offered comfort.

Letting himself imagine another timeline, another world, where things could have been different, one last time.

Because now, after what had just happened, he knew that he had to give him the memory potion as well.

Dean wasn’t safe with him there, but Castiel also knew him well enough by now that he knew he wouldn’t just let him go if he remembered him. Whether he hated him or loved him, after the potion, he wouldn’t let him go.

So, Dean had to forget.

Forget this last month. Forget Castiel.

It was the only way.

As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t keep him. This man who had won him over with his humour and his heart, with his enjoyment of life despite his hardships, with his devotion to his family and friends. His unyielding strength, despite an internal vulnerability that made Castiel’s breath catch every time Dean allowed him to see it, made Castiel feel safe and protected.

It was only fair.

He would erase it all, and everything would go back normal. And if his heart broke in the process, it was just the price he paid. A price that was worth every penny in exchange for the last month of memories that he would cherish for the rest of his life.

He was delaying, he realized, and took a shuddering breath before pulling away from Dean’s embrace.

“I’ll be back,” he said.

Dean, looking solemn, nodded. “Take whatever time you need.”

“I’ll be back,” he just repeated.

Then he left.

When he returned, he found Dean sitting exactly where he had left him. He probably hadn’t moved.

Sitting down beside him and looking Dean in the eyes, expression flat to mask the pain of what he was about to do, he said, “We need to talk.” The universal sign for “we’re about to break up.”

Dean clearly got the message because his eyes widened in surprise and then filled with pain. But he pasted a smile on his face and said in a falsely light voice, “Sure, Cas.” The smile faltered a bit. “I assume you want to talk about the attack?”

“Yes and no.”

What was he doing? He didn’t need to say or explain anything. Simply forcing the potions down Dean’s throat would be sufficient.

But that seemed cruel. If this didn’t work, he would take that route, but until then…

“I can’t stay here, Dean. I have to go.”

“Okay… Okay.” He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes darting around the room. “I understand. You need to get away. We can do that. Let’s get out of here. You and me. That’s it. We’ll leave all this death behind us. Start fresh.”

Castiel touched his arm and those green eyes flicked back to him. “Dean, no. That—that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” he demanded, eyes narrowing.

“I think you know.”

“No, I don’t think I do.” Stubborn, as always.

Castiel huffed in frustration, his heart aching as he said the words. “I have to leave without you.”

“ _Fates_ , Cas. Why?” His eyebrows rose as he came to a realization, then his gaze dropped to the sofa cushions in shame. “Is—Is it because you saw me… killing those people.”

“No! No, Dean, of course not.” He squeezed the arm he still held onto. “I killed some of them, too. It was life or death.”

“But that’s still technically my job.” Expression full of regret and vulnerability, Dean said, “I’ll stop being a Hunter. I swear it. You will never have to see anything like that ever again.”

Castiel felt his heart cracking. “That’s not—I just can’t. I—I can’t explain. You just have to—”

“To what? Trust you? I do, Cas. I trust you and I love you. That’s why I’m willing to say goodbye to my friends, my family and travel across the world to find a place where you’ll be comfortable and happy.”

More cracks. “Dean. You need to let me go. Please.” With shaking fingers, he pulled out the vial he had picked up from Rowena, who had been shaken from her encounter with the witches who had used her to find him, but was fine, and offered it to Dean. “But I have something that can help.”

She had also promised to use memory potions on the family and friends of Dean’s that he had met, though he’d had to promise a steep repayment in the future.

“For _Fate_ _’s_ sake, Cas!” He smacked bottle away and it went flying across the room.

Castiel’s breathing stopped, but the glass vial landed on a rug and didn’t shatter. Released from the moment of panic, he quickly rose from the couch and snatched it up, cradling it to his chest.

“Where the hell did you get that? You know what, never mind.” Dean was shaking his head, hands in the air. “I know you’re not happy here, Cas. There’s something that’s been bothering you, but you refuse to tell me what it is. So let’s just go. Together. Get away from it all. Trust _me_.”

“I want to. _Fates_ , do I want to. All I want is to be with you. Anywhere with you,” he said, becoming equally frustrated. “But there are things, that if you knew them, you wouldn’t want to be anywhere near me. What I am… We were never meant to be together like this.”

“Ignoring the part that you won’t talk about, ‘not meant to be together’? Screw that. So what if we weren’t written in the stars or whatever. I make my own destiny, and I say that, you and me, we were made for each other.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“The hell I don’t!” Dean shot to his feet, his body shaking with his anger. “If you don’t think we were meant to be together, then why did you _marry_ me?” The last was said so brokenly that Castiel had to choke back his own emotions.

“I—I—” Growling, he stormed up to Dean and grabbed his jacket. With a voice as shattered as his heart, he said, “ _I love you._ Are you happy now?”

Dean just stared down at him, green eyes hard and glinting like emeralds. “Yes. I just wish you were happy too.”

“I wish I could be,” he admitted.

“Then stop letting whatever is holding you back pull us apart and let’s take _Fate_ into our own hands. Stay with me, and we’ll fly or fall together.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Dean moved to grab Castiel’s hands, still holding his jacket, but Castiel immediately released him and stepped back, wanting to whimper at having to reject him. “Because I’m being torn in two and all I know is that I can’t have you, and it’s killing me.”

“You have me, Cas! I’m yours. Utterly and completely yours.” Dean’s voice had grown louder, but it softened again now. “And I’m right here, right in front of you, begging you to stay with me. To be mine.”

A choked sob escaped that Castiel just couldn’t bite back. Hot tears filled his eyes. “I—I have to go.”

He turned away from Dean, unable to see him hurting any longer.

“No, Cas, wait!” Dean’s hands touched his shoulders, gently trying to turn him back around. He didn’t let him. “Tell me what I need to do to fix this.”

“There’s nothing you can do. It’s all me. My fault. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Cas. Tell me. Just tell me what’s going on.”

The tears fell, hot streaks down his face, and more sobs broke free. “It’s hopeless. Please, let me go.” He turned and held out the vial again. “Drink this, and you’ll forget. You’ll be able to move on.”

“I don’t want to forget or move on. I want you.”

At the end of his rope, Castiel snapped, “I’m a witch, Dean.”

A harsh laugh from Dean. “No, you’re not.”

“I am.” And he gestured with a hand, making the sofa levitate four feet off the ground.

For a second, Dean just stared and Castiel could practically see the gears turning in his mind.

“That’s what you’ve been hiding. That’s why the covens came looking here for whoever they were looking for. Because of you. Because you’re… a witch.”

Castiel nodded. He was relieved that the truth was finally out there, but now he was more nervous than ever. Even though intellectually he knew he shouldn’t be, because Dean was still under the effects of the potion.

“ _Fates_ _…_ ” Dean released his shoulders as Castiel dropped the couch back in place, and he began pacing. “Okay… Okay.”

“That’s why you’re better off without me,” Castiel tried again. “You and me, we would have never worked out. We were never meant to be.”

“What? No. Cas, this doesn’t change how I feel about you. Please know that. I still love you. I don’t care that you’re a witch. You’re my husband and we’re in this together.”

He heard those words and his heart rejoiced, even though his mind knew they weren’t real. He needed to make Dean see.

So he said, “I’m not.”

“Not what?”

“Your husband. We’re not married. We never were?”

“What are you talking about? Of course, we’re—”

“No.” The harsh truth was difficult for Dean to accept. But Castiel questioned him about the details of their ‘relationship’, from their first date to their wedding. Subjects that he had purposefully avoided over the last month for fear of making an even worse mess of the spell. Subjects which the spell hadn’t even allowed Dean to consider.

Dean wasn’t able to provide answers to any of the questions, and when he realized that, his face blanked and he dropped heavily onto the sofa.

Finally, he murmured, “How?”

“A potion. You were hunting, and Ja—I was trying to escape from you. It—it wasn’t supposed to have this effect—there was a mistake—but I don’t regret what it did. This month, I wouldn’t change it for the world. But it’s over. I can’t stay here any longer, and it’s not fair to you.”

Another moment of silence as Dean just breathed, staring blankly ahead. Then his eyes, glistening and pleading, lifted to Castiel’s face. “But I still love you… I—I don’t want to lose that.”

“That’s the potion talking,” Castiel said, toughing out the words even as tears continued to fall. “Those feelings will go away once you take this.” The vial was still resting in his palm, outstretched once more.

“I don’t know. I’m so confused, Cas. I can’t even trust myself? My own feelings?”

“Then trust me.”

“Apparently I don’t even know you.”

That hurt. Probably more than it should have considering what he was trying to do. But it was also the truth. “Dean…”

“Alright. Okay. It might be the spell talking, but I do trust you.” He held out his hand. “I’ll take it. If only to prove you wrong.”

Not trusting himself to speak anymore, Castiel dropped the vial into Dean’s palm.

He uncorked it and stared at the vibrantly red liquid. Then he looked at Castiel and a second later tipped the contents into his throat.

Castiel couldn’t move. Couldn’t breath.

The vial dropped to the floor, missing the rug this time and shattering into a million glass pieces. Castiel sympathized.

On the couch, Dean swayed, his eyes fluttering.

It took a minute, but finally he refocused and Castiel breathed again.

“What’s going on?” he asked, voice full of confusion. “Cas?”

Dean looked up and took in the sight of the tears streaming down Castiel’s face. He probably looked terrible.

Dean’s eyes widened and he bolted to his feet. When his first step landed on glass, Dean had to look away from Castiel to side-step the remains of the vial.

The moment he had made it through the glass, however, he raced up to Castiel and gently placed a hand on his cheek, the other clasping his hip.

“Cas, talk to me!”

And Castiel couldn’t resist.

He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Dean’s, arms wrapping around him and holding him so tight he probably couldn’t breathe.

He kissed him hard, a goodbye kiss, and Dean responded to Castiel’s anxiety, the kiss devolving into a desperate mess of tongues and teeth, before softening again until Castiel could imagine that Dean was still in love with him.

One last kiss. One _real_ kiss, without any potions between them.

When he pulled back, Dean blinked, looking dazed.

Warily, Castiel asked, “What do you remember?”

And that question seemed to trigger something in Dean. His gaze went somewhere distant as his mind probably flashed through all the data that it had missed.

As that happened, Castiel released Dean and stepped away.

It was nearly over.

Hurting deep inside, Castiel raised a hand just as Dean came out of the memory recall, and froze him on his spot with a spell.

Unable to move, Dean called “Cas, wait!” as Castiel raised his other hand, now holding the other two vials.

He didn’t give Dean time to say anything more, unwilling to trust himself to hear it.

With another spell, the vials were uncorked and flown to Dean’s mouth. With magic, he forced Dean to swallow one, then the other.

Through it all, Dean’s eyes remained fixed on his, as tears left tracks down both their faces.

The moment the task was done, Dean’s eyes shut and his head dropped to his chest, completely unconscious. Before releasing him, he checked to confirm that he could no longer feel any traces of the magic of the love potion left in Dean.

It had worked. Only a magical barrier remained in his mind that would block off all memories of the past month.

Finally, Castiel used his magic to lay Dean gently on the couch, then walked to the stairs, movements stiff.

Chest tight, heart and head aching, he felt completely raw and exposed. He had no barriers because Dean had stripped them away. Everything was out in the open.

He gathered only a few items, some clothes and food, and left everything else untouched.

Standing at the ruined entryway, bundle in hand, he paused.

To the Dean’s sleeping form, he whispered, “Miss you.”

Then he left.


	7. Chapter 7

**Two days later** **…**

“Leave him be,” he heard Balthazar saying outside the door. “He’s been through a lot.”

“But—”

“Jack. Give him time.”

“Alright.”

Footsteps walking away.

Castiel burrowed further under the covers.

**One week later** **…**

Balthazar and Jack were out running errands, which meant it was time for Castiel to do all the activities that needed doing that required to leave Balthazar’s guest bedroom.

Namely, bathing and replenishing his horde of foodstuffs that didn’t need to be kept in the cold-cellar.

Balthazar had quickly realized what he was doing, and after a few days of cold wipe-downs, he emerged one day to find steaming water waiting for him, as well as a number of nourishing, nonperishable items on the counter, such as hard breads and jerky.

Sinking into the hot water from head to toe until he was completely submerged was the only relaxation, besides the blessed unconsciousness of sleep, that Castiel found these days. He would stay underwater until his need to breathe forced him up again, just to take advantage of the sensory deprivation that it offered.

The only downside to all his time alone was that he was left with only his thoughts. And there was only one person featured in all of them.

But conversing was too difficult when all he wanted to do was scream at the world.

So he stayed alone.

**Two weeks later** **…**

Balthazar busted down his door.

“That’s it. Enough moping. You’re coming down for dinner, and tomorrow you’re going out into the world again.”

“No, thank you,” Castiel croaked from the bed, his voice hoarse from three weeks of disuse.

“Too bad. It’s happening.”

And Balthazar proceeded to rip the covers off him. Castiel, dressed in only a pair of boxes, shivered at the rush of cold air across his skin.

Since he didn’t allow anyone in to light or maintain a fire, his room was always freezing cold. Outside, the leaves had already turned and begun falling. Snow would soon follow.

So, he spent most of his time beneath his blankets, which was not much of a hardship.

“Get up,” Balthazar snapped. “Get dressed.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Cas, so help me, if you don’t get up in the next five seconds, I will take all your snacks away and you’ll find only ice water when you emerge again. I am not babying you any longer.”

“I hate you.”

“Five.”

“Why can’t you just let me bemoan my fate in peace?”

“Four.”

Groaning, Castiel sat up. “Alright, alright.”

“Three. Get dressed.”

Rolling his eyes, he snatched a pair of pants that he couldn’t remember when he had worn from the floor and tugged them on. Balthazar tossed him a shirt from the dresser.

“Good,” he said. “Let’s go.”

**One week later** **…**

Castiel was getting better. He no longer hid in the guest room all the time. He helped Balthazar pick up the groceries. He cleaned up himself and the house as well. He helped Jack find a job at an apothecary, healing the sick and injured.

But he still had no plans for the future. He was a good guest, but his stay was currently indefinite.

He knew Balthazar couldn’t, and shouldn’t, support him forever, but every time he tried to consider a possible next step, he shied away from it.

Anything without Dean felt hollow and pointless.

Before Dean, he had just been surviving, living day-to-day. And that had been fine with him.

He hadn’t known any better.

Now he did.

Dean had given him a taste of how life could be. Of everything he was missing. And we wanted it. Longed for it.

Going back to just surviving… he couldn’t do it.

But how could he get that feeling he’d had with Dean back? He had no idea. Which was precisely the problem.

So, he continued to go through the motions.

A sharp ping against his mind woke Castiel from his nap.

Someone who wasn’t Balthazar or Jack had entered Balthazar’s house and triggered one of his warning spells.

It was the middle of the afternoon, and Jack and Balthazar were both at work, so perhaps the thief thought the house was empty.

 _Fate_ knew that even someone who had observed the house might have thought only two people lived there for how often he went outside these days.

 _Well,_ he thought to himself, _this thief is in for a big surprise._

It was with an almost savage glee that he rose into a sitting position on the couch and looked toward the hallway that the thief would have to pass through.

Preparing a spell, he waited.

Sure enough, a figure, moving slowly, came into view. Castiel raised his hand to lob the binding spell at the intruder, but froze as the man’s head turned a little more his way and the profile of an instantly recognizable face became visible.

_Dean._

The spell broke with a pop from the shock of seeing him, and Dean immediately turned toward the sound. Acting quickly, Castiel cast a simple concealment spell on himself before Dean’s gaze could land on him.

Even still, Dean’s eyes paused on the depression in the couch cushions where Castiel was sitting.

Dean moved forward and Castiel shot up from the couch, thanking _Fate_ that he was barefoot, and moved to the nearest window, giving himself a second escape route if necessary.

Halting the second that Castiel had moved, Dean’s gaze roved around the room.

“I know you’re there. I can sense your magic,” he said, and Castiel closed his eyes as that achingly familiar voice caused memories to flood his mind.

Nonetheless, he kept his lips pressed firmly shut, his feet rooted in place, and after a moment of indulgence, he opened his eyes.

When his gaze found Dean again, he realized that Dean wasn’t wielding any kind of weapon. Knowing exactly where Dean wore them, he could see that his usual knives and gear were there, but he hadn’t drawn any of them, despite being in the middle of a witch’s house.

Perhaps, as when they had first met in the alley, he preferred to use his fists.

But then Dean held up his hands and said, “I’m not—I won’t hurt you. You can stop hiding.”

And Castiel became very confused. Did—did Dean know who he was?

It couldn’t be. Dean couldn’t remember anything. Rowena had even sent him a message confirming that the memory spells had all worked on everyone after he had left.

So, what had changed?

He had to know.

“And why should I believe you,” he said, hoping that Dean didn’t remember his voice. And also secretly hoping that he did. “I’m clearly a witch. You’re clearly a Hunter. It’s your job to hurt me and my kind.”

Dean locked on to Castiel’s voice, as Castiel had known he would, but he had already moved around to the other side of the room.

Watching the area by the window, Dean ran a hand through his hair. It had gotten longer. There were dark circles under his eyes as well. He wasn’t sleeping enough.

“I— _Fates_ , this is difficult to admit. But honestly? Somehow—I don’t know. I just…” He cursed and stared down at his hands, giving a self-depreciating laugh. “My hands are trembling, and I have no idea why.” He looked back up again, green eyes searching for him. “But there’s something about you. Something… familiar.”

“Familiar?” His voice? It shouldn’t be, but maybe… But Dean had already said he wouldn’t hurt him even before he had spoken.

Castiel’s head was spinning, unsure of what to believe, feeling the longing for Dean that he had suppressed rising to the surface once again.

“Yeah, like a shadow that I keep chasing, but I can never quite reach it, never quite touch it.”

Clearly, Rowena’s spell hadn’t been as effective as she had thought. There must have been some memories of the month they had been together leaking through.

Hardening his heart, Castiel knew what he’d have to do next. He’d have to fix it. Trap Dean temporarily, get Rowena to make a new batch of potion—stronger this time. And then he’d give it to Dean, send him on his way, and he and Jack would move on to a new location. Balthazar would probably have to move, too.

The weight of the tasks ahead fell heavily on his shoulders.

There was just one more item to check.

“How did you find me?”

Without hesitation, Dean reached into his pocket and withdrew a hair pin, embellished with a single ruby. The very same pin that Jack had used to track Castiel a lifetime ago, and which Castiel had stupidly left behind.

At least it was a mistake that was easily rectified.

“With this,” Dean was saying. “I found it in my home, like it was calling to me. I haven’t been able to put it down, and it’s kept pulling me.” The pin in his palm turned, pointing directly at Castiel. Green eyes lifted to meet his. “Pulling me to you.”

Even though he knew Dean couldn’t see him, he still felt the force of that stare right into his soul.

“All I know is that you feel like home.”

His heart panged.

Taking a deep breath, Dean stepped toward him and Castiel panicked. His cloaking spell broke.

Like lightning, Dean made his move, but Castiel was already out of the room, moving down the hallway. He wanted to race outside, but he still had to capture Dean in order to reinforce the memory spell.

So, instead, he lunged up the stairs and into the guest bedroom, where he kept some items that could help him, swinging the door shut behind him just as Dean slammed into it.

Castiel leaned back against the door for a second, recovering his breath and bracing it simultaneously.

But the first accidental strike from his momentum was the only force Dean used against the barrier between them. He didn’t even try the knob, which didn’t have a lock.

“Please,” he begged instead. “I just need to talk to you.”

He could sense Dean on the other side of the door and couldn’t stop himself from imagining the Hunter, palms on the door, forehead pressed against it, breathing only a little heavier from the run upstairs.

“How could I feel like home to a Hunter?” he found himself asking.

“I have no clue, but I followed you this far. After I felt your presence through the pin, I came all this way just to find you. You don’t have to hide from me.”

He should be gathering those useful items, like the staff he had claimed, or some spelled rope, but he stayed at the door, even turning and placing a hand upon it. He wondered if Dean was doing the same.

“I’m a witch, Dean,” he said. “If you don’t at least attempt to kill me, you’ll be in significant trouble with the Men of Letters.”

A relieved laugh. “So you do know me.”

“What?”

“You said my name.”

 _Fates._ He hadn’t meant to reveal anything like that. It would only make things more difficult.

“I’m dying to meet you. I don’t care about the Men of Letters or their punishments. Please, let me in. I need to see you.”

Castiel shuddered, the desire to do just that was so strong. To just open the door and let him in. To hold him again…

“I shouldn’t,” he rasped. “It’s better this way.”

“Better for who?” Dean demanded.

“Everyone.” His voice was plaintive and if he had been the one hearing it, he wasn’t sure if he’d believe him either.

“But what if I told you that I think you’re the one I’ve been searching for my entire life?”

Castiel’s breath caught in his chest and he had to use the door to steady himself. “W-what?”’

“Actually, I’m pretty certain that you are. All my life I’ve felt an emptiness inside, eating away at me, bit by bit everyday. But when I woke up, missing a month of time, it was gone and I felt whole for the first time in forever. That was you, wasn’t it? You’re the one who filled that emptiness.”

The door handle moved slightly, but Dean didn’t try to push it open.

“But you took it away from me. That month of time. Why?”

“Y-you don’t remember anything?” Could it be true? Was it not memory leakage? It couldn’t be remnants of the potion. Castiel had checked that himself. And if not, then…

“You really feel that way? Even now? Even though you know I’m a witch?” He couldn’t stop his desperation to hear the answers to those questions from seeping into his voice.

“ _Yes_ ,” Dean groaned from behind the door. “Let me see you.”

On unsteady feet, not really knowing what he was doing, Castiel stepped back, no longer preventing the door from opening.

And after a couple seconds, it did.

And on the other side, stood Dean, looking at him like he was lost at sea and Castiel was his only guiding star.

Their gazes locked.

Dean moved forward, lifting a hand. Castiel was frozen in place.

And that hand gently, reverently, touched his cheek.

And just that single touch made the past three weeks of misery worth it. But Dean wasn’t done.

Slowly, so slowly, he shifted his touch to the back of his neck and guided him forward, giving Castiel plenty of time to pull away.

He didn’t.

Their lips touched.

Trembling, Castiel felt his knees about to give out. His hands found Dean’s shoulders, using him for support.

He thought the kiss would be fast and furious—a reunion of two souls. But it wasn’t. Instead, it was slow and unsure, as if they were relearning each other, which, Castiel supposed, they were.

For Castiel, this was a Dean he didn’t know. One without the effect of a love spell guiding his actions, just as he was when they had first met.

For Dean, he didn’t even know him. He was working purely off an instinct—a feeling—that had led him all the way here, back into Castiel’s arms. Not only that, he knew he was a witch.

And that fact left Castiel reeling.

This kiss. It was everything Castiel had hoped for, and everything he had feared.

He had left to protect Dean and here he was, undoing everything he had done.

Absolutely terrified of his own actions, Castiel finally, and much too late, pulled away and made a run for it, aiming for a window across the room.

But Dean was too quick. He caught his shirt, which slowed him enough for Dean to sweep out his legs from under him and throw him off balance.

Castiel landed with bounce on the bed.

In retaliation, he raised a hand to cast a spell to knock Dean back, but he was already too close. On top of him, in fact.

And before he could cast anything at all, Dean had pinned his hands above his head, leaned down, and pressed his lips to his once more.

And just like that, all of the fight left him.

This kiss was harder, more desperate, but no less unsure.

Ages later, feeling lightheaded, he pulled back from the kiss, gasping for air.

Dean pressed his lips gently against his skin, again and again down his jaw. “I know you,” he said between kisses.

Castiel choked on an unexpected laugh. “Yes, you recognized me the first time, too.”

“No, not that. I meant—Well, I mean, yes.” He lifted his head to look Castiel in the eyes. “You’re Castiel Novak. But I meant I know _this_. Kissing you. Touching you. I know the feel of your body. Your scent. The way you taste on my tongue.”

Castiel shivered even as he burned from the heat in Dean’s words and eyes.

“How do I know you? What are we to each other? Why don’t I remember?”

The ever-present guilt inside Castiel flared anew at Dean’s plea. He closed his eyes, unable to hold Dean’s gaze. He sat up, forcing Dean to slide to the side until they were both sitting side-by-side on the edge of the mattress.

Taking his hand, Dean tried again. “You filled the hole in my heart, but now there’s a hole in my memory. I’m missing time that changed me, significantly—I can feel it—and without those memories, I feel lost. I’m different and I don’t know why. Can you imagine how that feels?”

“What if it’s not the memories that changed you? What if it was something that should have never affected you in the first place?”

As he had known would happen, a frown spread across Dean’s face.

“What do you mean?”

He looked down at his hand in Dean’s and considered his options.

First, he could leave things as they were and walk—or rather, run—away. If he did, Dean would likely hunt him for the rest of his life in order to get answers.

Second, he could stick with his original plan: capture Dean and get Rowena to redo her spells, but better. It may or may not work, but at least Dean would then have no way of finding him.

Third, he could tell the truth and accept all the consequences that came with it.

Surprising himself, he came to a decision rather quickly.

The truth.

He had already tried the first two options, and he felt he owed it to Dean, and to himself as well, to try the third.

Determined, he looked up at Dean and said, “I have something to confess.”

“Okay,” Dean said hesitantly.

“First, there are some things you don’t know about me.”

He looked over, and Dean, listening intently, nodded at him to continue.

“Two years ago, I left my coven. ‘Fled’ is probably more accurate, actually. And I ended up in Sacriloga.”

“My hometown.”

“Yes.” Castiel said wryly. “Though I didn’t know it at the time, or else I would never have settled there.”

“Then I’m glad you didn’t know, if that’s what allowed us to meet.”

Not wanting to go down the road of fated meetings or ‘what if’ scenarios, he looked away and didn’t respond to that comment.

“All was going well enough, until about seven weeks ago when… another witch arrived in town, seeking my help.” As if he had only been looking for an excuse, his gaze travelled back to Dean. “You were hunting him.”

And Castiel continued to tell the story of all the events that had happened from that point, up to the moment he had left Dean in Sacriloga. He purposefully left out Rowena’s name and location, as well as anything else about Jack. If things went sideways here, there was no point endangering them as well.

Dean remained silent through it all, simply listening and absorbing everything that he said.

Finally, Castiel fell silent, the story done.

Dean remained quiet as well, making the tension rise inside Castiel as he waited for his response.

This was the moment. Everything was out in the open.

And then Dean pulled his hand from his and rose to his feet, facing away from him.

Castiel’s breath hitched and he could barely hear Dean’s words over the pounding of his own heart.

But hear them, he did.

“Remove it.” Dean turned back and his eyes were dark, his expression shuttered. “I want you to remove the memory spell and then I want you to leave.”

The hope that Dean’s presence and words had inspired within him shrivelled and died in that moment. It hurt even worse than when he had left Dean in Sacriloga, because that time he hadn’t even allowed himself to consider that Dean might still want him without the love spell or spell-tainted memories.

But then he had found him again—no spell, no memories—and had said those beautiful, heartbreaking things, and Castiel had begun to consider the possibility.

No more.

Castiel withdrew within himself, closing off his heart with a wall of pain and loss, until nothing would show on his face or in his actions.

He didn’t know how long he could hold the facade, so he stood and said, “Okay.”

Without a word, Dean stepped in front of him, and when Castiel raised his hand, he closed his eyes. Placing two fingers on Dean’s forehead, he let the magic flow.

Unlike spells of the heart—or potions made in error—a simple memory blocking spell was easy to break.

All it took was a _tap_.

Dean collapsed in his arms, unconscious, and Castiel was hit with the déjà vu of the situation.

Once again, he used magic to lay Dean down gently on the bed. Then he sent Balthazar a magical message—worth the risk—that they had been exposed and they would have to move.

This time, when he walked out the door, he didn’t say anything at all.

Because he knew that if he did, he wouldn’t make it out.


	8. Chapter 8

After the incident at Balthazar’s, Castiel knew he had lost all of the progress he had made since leaving Dean in Sacriloga.

Faced with another mountain of grief to overcome or else bury himself under, he had only one option to get himself through.

He left Jack under Balthazar’s care, unable to watch over the kid himself in the mental state he was in, and returned to his old coven.

There, at least, he wouldn’t have to think. Only obey. Despite that having been the reason that he had left in the first place.

He could follow their rules and do as he was told, just as he had for most of his life. It was far from a fulfilling life, but at least the coven could make use of his magic while he was there. So, it was something.

He had to endure a week of solitude—not much of a hardship after his own self-imposed isolation at Balthazar’s—followed by indefinitely taking on the worst chores for the coven until it was deemed that he had been punished enough for his defection.

But in the end, Michael accepted him back, even though Raphael had argued against it.

Just two days after his isolation had ended, Castiel was sweeping the common space of the coven’s main building when he heard a commotion rise up outside.

“Cas!”

No.

It couldn’t be.

More shouting. A bang against the door.

“CASTIEL!”

His broom struck the stone floor with a crack that echoed. He hadn’t even realized he had let go of it.

It was him. Somehow, he was here. “Dean?” he whispered brokenly.

Michael, who had been sitting with Raphael and a few others by the fire, marched over to him.

“Who is that? How do they know you?”

“I—I…”

Eyes narrowed, Michael turned away from him, saying, “It doesn’t matter.” He waved at the witches closest to the door. “Go outside and help the others ensure our guest finds his way home and away from ours. Preferably without memories of how he got here.”

The witches nodded, but the second one of them opened the door, it slammed into him, knocking him onto his ass.

And on the other side of the threshold was Dean, huffing with exertion, and Castiel drank in the sight of him.

Behind him four more witches were groaning on ground outside. Clearly alive, but with their senses knocked out of them.

Michael stilled, his expression going cold as he turned on Castiel.

“You brought a Hunter to our door?” he said softly.

 _Oh no_ _…_ Cold terror seeped through him. Michael was furious.

“Move!” Dean shoved his way inside, past the rest of the witches by the door as they still tried to stop him on Michael’s orders. Everyone in the area was staring. Most were simply confused, but he could see fear dawning on the faces of others as gradually they came to the realization that there was a Hunter in their home.

Raphael stepped forward, passing Michael and Castiel on his way to the door. “I will deal with him.”

“No!” Castiel cried out. Beside him, Michael’s eyes grew even colder, if that was possible.

But Raphael didn’t listen to him, nor did Michael call him back.

The witches parted for Raphael, creating an open space between Castiel and Dean.

That’s when Dean spotted him.

“Cas?” he said, then Raphael smashed Dean to the floor with a wave of his hand.

Unable to stop it and unable to watch, Castiel turned away as Raphael began using his magic to beat Dean into a bloody mess. He had seen Raphael do it before, and it was not a pretty sight.

The sound of it though. Of Dean’s cries.

They tore at him. Every groan and whimper of pain. Every sound of flesh hitting stone. Or wood. Or other flesh.

Each like a razor carving into his own skin.

He couldn’t bear it.

He started to walk away, to flee, when he heard Dean speak, his words slurred.

“I shouldn’t have made you leave.”

The step he had been taking fell hard against the stone floor, and he stood, frozen.

Another thud. This time of a fist striking.

“I was scared,” Dean continued, despite the blows. “I didn’t—”

_Slam._

“—know what was real after you told—”

_Crack._

Castiel turned around to see Dean lifting his head from the floor, blood dripping through his fingers when he held his hand to his temple.

“—me about the spell.”

“What is this Hunter babbling about, brother?” Michael demanded from beside him. Castiel had almost forgotten he was there.

The whole room, save for Dean, had disappeared.

“Stop,” he whispered. His eyes didn’t move from Dean as Raphael landed another punch.

“Excuse me?”

“Stop hurting him!” And as Raphael raised his hand to knock Dean to the ground once more, Castiel threw a spell at him.

It struck Raphael dead on, sending him flying away from Dean and crashing into the opposite wall.

Michael, deadly warning in his tone, said, “You don’t want to do this, brother.”

Cas turned on him. “Shut up!” he snapped.

Then he turned back to Dean, rushing toward him, but stopping a few feet away. Around him, all the nervous chattering of the onlookers vanished and dead silence fell.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to find you. To tell you I’m sorry.”

“Dean,” he said, anguish permeating his voice. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who has to atone. I spelled not only your mind, but your heart as well. No person, witch or not, should be forced to love someone.”

Raphael rose from where he had fallen. “You had this insect under your spell and you let him get away?”

Both Castiel and Dean ignored him.

“No, Cas. I gave you no choice. I was hunting you and you feared for your life. And for good reason. You’re only guilty of protecting yourself. I don’t know how you could even stand to be near me back then, knowing what I did for a living.”

“Dean…”

“I’m so sorry. I have no excuse for pushing you away. I hadn’t thought I was prejudice, but clearly I was wrong. I let my fear get the better of me.”

“I told you, you have nothing to be sorry for. But if that’s why you came, to seek my forgiveness, you have it.”

Raphael spoke up once more. “He doesn’t need your forgiveness. He needs to be on the receiving end of our spells.” And once again, he was ignored.

“That’s not the only reason I came,” Dean said in response to Castiel. And then he may have tried to give Castiel a smoldering look, but the effect was ruined by all the blood and the bruising already starting to form around his eyes.

Castiel, his voice worried and low, said, “Dean, this is hardly the time or place.”

Despite his words, Dean continued anyway. “I came to win you back. I don’t deserve it, not by half, but I need to try.”

“Dean—”

“I can give you a better life. You don’t want to be here, I can tell. You ran away for a reason. And you—you said you loved me. I hope that’s still true. Please, give me another chance.”

“DEAN.” Castiel growled at him. “Do you even know what you’re offering?” Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Castiel didn’t give him a chance. “You’re saying you’ll run away with me? Leave everything you know and love behind?”

“I’d give it all up for you. I told you before that I would. I meant it then, and I mean it now.”

“I don’t want you to give up anything for me!”

“I—”

“No, listen to me. I’m a witch. If we do this, run away together—”

Back on his feet and headed his way, Raphael snarled, “Castiel, that’s heresy!”

One look from Castiel had Raphael ceasing his movement. The magical energy flaring off him probably helped as well.

He continued addressing Dean. “—If we do this, then you will have to lie to every single person you know. Or you won’t be able to have that relationship in the first place. That goes doubly for other hunters.”

“There are people we can trust.”

“One, maybe two. That’s not a life, Dean. Not one anyone would choose willingly.”

“You chose it.”

“No, I didn’t. There was no choice. It was run away and risk everything, or suffocate inside this prison.”

“Then why did you come back?”

“I—because I couldn’t stand being alone anymore. Not after… Not after getting a taste of what could have been with you. And this was better than facing that loneliness. This was… something. Which was better than nothing.”

“We could have that again.”

And Dean placed a hand on the ground, using that as leverage to slowly lift himself up. On unsteady feet, he stood.

Castiel shook his head. “No, we can’t.”

“Why not?”

Testing his balance, Dean stepped closer. And stepped again.

“I’m so tired of hiding. I—I’m just tired.”

“Then lean on me. I’ll protect you.” As he spoke, Dean approached until he was close enough that Castiel could reach out and touch him. “You don’t want to hide? Fine, we’ll let the world see.”

Castiel feared to move, but Dean cupped his face in his hands and he sighed into the touch.

“Then we really will be hunted forever,” Castiel argued, though even he could tell his words were half-hearted.

“We won’t. Because we’ll make everyone accept us. Accept witches. We’ll change the world to fit us. Rewrite the script.”

“That’s a dream.”

“Our dream. And we’ll make it a reality. I quit, by the way.”

Castiel blinked at him. “What?”

“I’m not a hunter anymore. I put in my resignation before I left.” Dean shrugged, then winced as he aggravated one of his wounds.

“I didn’t even know hunters could resign.”

“Well, not really. It was more like I forced them to retire me.”

“I’m sure that went over well,” Castiel said wryly.

Dean attempted a cocky grin that came out as more of a grimace. “What I’m trying to say is that the dream is already in action. Sam’s been fighting for witch rights from within the Men of Letter for years. It’s about time I joined him. And I know other hunters, too, who’ll come around.”

“Really?”

“I told you before, but obviously I need to say it again: I love you.”

And those words flowed through Castiel like a balm on his soul. He closed his eyes, hardly believing what was happening.

Then he opened his eyes to see the man that he wanted to share the rest of his life with. The man he wanted to fall asleep beside every night and wake up to every morning. The man who owned his heart, his everything.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s change the world.”

Behind Castiel, a slow clap started.

Dread filling him, he turned to see Michael, his most terrifying smile etched on his face.

“That’s all very touching,” he was saying. “So sweet it’s giving me a toothache. However—” He lowered his hands, pausing for dramatic effect. Because if Michael was anything, it was dramatic. And sadistic. “I can’t just let you leave, Castiel.”

His eyes shifted to Dean. “And it would be rude of us not to offer your… _friend_ our hospitality.” His words were neutral enough, but his tone effectively conveyed his true intentions.

Castiel faced the coven leader fully, placing himself between Dean and Michael. Movement off to the side, however, reminded him that Raphael was still in play. And Raphael would follow whatever Michael told him to do.

So, he shifted again, backing Dean toward the door, just as Dean had tried to protect him from Lucifer’s witches back in Sacriloga.

But Dean, stubborn man that he was, stepped around Castiel to stand at his side, drawing a crossbow that had been slung across his back.

“You ready?” Dean asked.

And Castiel smirked. “I’m not the one who’s just been beaten. I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Then let’s do this.”

Both Michael and Raphael ended up in the custody of the Men of Letters. No longer would they hold Castiel’s coven hostage.

In Michael’s place the witches of the coven elected a woman named Naomi to lead them.

After that, Castiel left them to their own devices.

He and Dean still had Lucifer’s coven to deal with, but they were anxious to get back home and took multiple chariots to get there as fast as possible, arriving late in the evening.

Walking back through that door, it was like he had never left.

He did have much of a chance to appreciate it though, as the second the door closed behind them, Dean had turned him around and pressed him against the wall, hands rapidly unhooking the buttons of his coat and diving underneath.

“Cold,” Castiel rasped and Dean’s hands touched his bare skin.

“Need you.” Dean rasped, grinding against him.

“I can tell,” Castiel teased.

Then Dean’s hand delved beneath his pants and all witty retorts flew out of Castiel’s mind.

“Upstairs.”

“Yes.”

Clothing was shed on the way to the bedroom, and they were both naked by the time they tumbled onto the bed.

Dean even got to experience one of the benefits of having a magical partner—namely the ability to summon lubricant at a time of great need when such a detail had previously been forgotten by both parties.

After so long denying himself, Castiel’s desire was an unquenchable flame that burned within him. When Dean finally took his cock into his body, lowering himself down on him from above, it took everything he had not to simply explode.

The sun was dawning by the time they cleaned up and settled back in bed to actually sleep.

“Castiel?” Dean asked quietly.

He mumbled into his hair.

“Do you want to stay here? In Sacriloga, I mean.”

Castiel roused himself enough to consider the question. In then end, he said, “I’m happy wherever you are. I do like it here though. And your family and friends are here.”

“And you’re still okay with telling everyone you’re a witch? With starting this movement?”

“It has to start somewhere or else witches will always be outcasts from society. Hunted and feared.”

“You’re not afraid? Not even for your own safety?”

He nuzzled Dean’s neck, holding him tighter. “I know the risks. But as long as you’re with me, I feel like I can do anything.”

Dean was quiet.

“Besides, I’m confident in us. After all, you came around. And you’re the baddest Hunter of them all.”

Dean snorted.

They fell into silence, until a few minutes later when Dean asked, “Will the witches follow your lead though? Or will they be too afraid?”

And it was Castiel’s turn to snort. “You need to meet more witches while not being a Hunter. Remind me to introduce you to Rowena. And Balthazar. Oh, and of course you’ll have to be re-introduced to Jack, and—”

Dean’s lips on his silenced him.

They really didn’t get much sleep that night. But they had the rest of their lives to catch up on it.

THE END


End file.
